


Facing Backward

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Avoidable Smut, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Middle-Aged Romance, Midlife Crisis, Next Generation, Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Post-War, Seer Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: Harry decides to throw a 25th anniversary reunion for the DA, and is forced to consider what might have happened if he'd chosen a different path... and a different partner. (Written pre-HBP in 2004.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue: The Most Complicated Part

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so when I first wrote this fic in 2004 I was young and innocent in the ways of online fandom. At the absolute height (or nadir) of the Shipping Wars, I dropped a fic in which Harry is married to Hermione, Ginny is married to Neville, but both find themselves struggling with their mutual attraction. Whoops.
> 
> Which is to say, if you're a die-hard Pumpkin Pie or Orange Crush (or Flaming Toad) shipper, this may not be the fic for you. It's about putting our favorite characters in a moral dilemma (a bunch of moral dilemmas, actually), and though I promise an HEA, I can also promise some interesting bumps along the road.
> 
> I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the two betas for this 72,000 word story, the first full-length piece I ever completed: the_dilemma and aberforths_rug. Much of Facing Backwards's shape and integrity is due to their care and thought.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides to throw a 25th anniversary reunion for the DA, and is forced to consider what might have happened if he'd chosen a different path... and a different partner.

> _And it seemed to them that they were within an inch of arriving at a decision, and that then a new, beautiful life would begin. And they both realized that the end was still far, far away, and that the hardest, the most complicated part was only just beginning._  
>    
>  Anton Chekhov, "Lady with Lapdog"

Harry had meant it to be a twenty-fifth reunion for the original group that had formed Dumbledore's Army--he even invited Marietta Edgecombe--but Hermione's schedule kept forcing him to move the date--first for an emergency international conference on threats to the Secrecy Act, then a special session of the Wizzengamot to hear the trial of a young ministry official who seemed to have been engaging in a black-market trade in mementos from the Ministry's Voldemort archives.  
  
Finally, it was just two couples that managed to say they'd come: the Weasleys and the Longbottoms.  
  
"Actually," Harry said, madly chopping mushrooms in the drafty old kitchen, "it's just as well. I don't know how I thought I was going to prepare a meal for thirty!" Several pots were bubbling gleefully away on the enormous old stove, and a gargantuan salad bowl was tossing itself on the battered old kitchen table.  
  
"You'd have done just fine, Harry," Hermione said, sloughing her dress robes and settling into one of the tall, straight-backed chairs. "I could have hired Dobby and a few of the other free elves to come and help."  
  
Harry tossed mushrooms into the salad, narrowly missing having his fingers removed by the whirring tongs. "I wish..." He shook his head. "I don't know how Molly Weasley did it. I mean, think about those dinners at the Burrow, or here. Ten people or more, every night? And I don't think I ever saw her happier than when she had a house full of people... Now, Albie, stop levitating the chairs, sweetie..."  
  
Hermione bent down and swept up the wild-haired four-year-old into an embrace. "Give us a kiss, Albie!"  
  
The boy's cherubic face pressed against his mother's but his green eyes never strayed from the heavy oak chair that was slowly pirouetting just below the high, dark ceiling of the Grimauld Place kitchen.  
  
"Albus!" snapped Harry, pulling his wand out of the flour-stained apron.  
  
With a wiggle of his tiny, thin fingers, Albie landed the chair gently in the middle of table.  
  
"Thank you for listening to your father, Albie," said Hermione.  
  
"Right," muttered Harry. "Thanks for not launching it up the chimney again." With some effort he hauled the chair back down to the floor.  
  
"Mum," said Albie, "Sidi's coming back."  
  
"Yes, she is, sweetie. Professor Snape let her come back all the way from Hogwarts, just to read you a story."  
  
"Don't want her to read. Want her to tell me a story about you and Daddy and Uncle Ronny." His placid eyes were wandering from one chair to another, as if considering which one to catapult into space first.  
  
"Lord, Albie," said Harry, "haven't you heard all of those a million times?"  
  
"Want to hear it again. 'Specially the chess game." Albus loved to hear about Ron's adventures almost more than he did about his parents'. Harry had found himself replaying some of the more terrifying exploits in their past over and over with Albie--sometimes as himself, sometimes taking on Hermione and other roles, but always with Albie happily in the role of Ron. Harry had seen his son play for hours with Sirius's battered old wizard chess set--not knowing any strategy, but joyously marching the pieces around the table with wiggles of his fingers, all the while whispering some intricate, unintelligible narrative in which the word "Ronny" was prominent.  
  
"Uncle Ron will be here later, Albie," Hermione said brightly, placing the boy on the chair that Harry had rescued. "And Auntie Luna, and Ginny and Neville. They're all bringing Sidi down from school. Isn't that nice?"  
  
Albie smiled beatifically, hopped off the chair and zoomed towards the door of the kitchen, almost bowling over his sister Minnie, who was entering.  
  
"Ullo, Mum. Didn't hear you come in," Minnie drawled. Then she bounded over to her mother and wrapping her in a gangly embrace. "Love you!"  
  
"I love you, too, sweetie," said Hermione returning the hug, "but you need to let me breathe!"  
  
Minnie giggled.  
  
"How was school today?" Hermione asked.  
  
Suddenly, the light disappeared from Minnie's eyes. She disentangled herself from her mother and flung herself into a chair, hiding her face in the battered table.  
  
"What is it, Minerva, darling?" Hermione asked, looking concerned.  
  
"I hate that school," Minnie moaned. "I never want to go there again. Why do I have to go to a muggle school? Artie Weasley and Gilda Pengilly get schooled at home. Why can't I?"  
  
"It's important," Hermione said, in what Harry recognized as her Calm and Reasonable voice. "You have more muggle than wizard blood in you." This was an old conversation.  
  
"It's just because you're the Minister, and you want to make a show of getting on with muggles. You don't care about me at all."  
  
Harry couldn't hold back any longer. "We went through this this afternoon, Minnie. It's really important for you to understand muggles. And to realize that magic isn't the solution to all your problems." He glanced at his wife. "It's that Alice Purvy girl. She was after Minnie again in the play yard when Albie and I picked her up."  
  
"She keeps calling me a witch," Minnie whined, "like that's a bad thing!"  
  
Harry and Hermione locked glances for a moment. "Minnie," Harry said, "tell Mummy why she called you that."  
  
"Well, she and her gang were after this little seven-year-old named Cassandra Whitling at lunch, trying to steal her money, and I got so angry, I..." Suddenly Minnie fell silent.  
  
"Tell your mother what happened next, Minerva," Harry said wearily.  
  
"Well, I just... I sort of lost it. I started yelling at all of them, and suddenly I... I sort of changed."  
  
"Changed?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I... I don't know exactly what I did, but all of the sudden, they all seemed really small, and they all screamed and ran off." Minnie sniffed miserably. "Even Cassandra. She looked at me like I was a monster or something."  
  
"Oh, dear," Hermione muttered. "Oh, dear."  
  
Harry nodded and said, quietly, to Hermione, "Perhaps we can have Ginny talk with her about controlling some of her innate Transformations skills." He stroked Minnie's tight mass of black curls. "I think you might have some talent as an animagus, Minerva, just like your namesake." Only, he fretted, she clearly was headed towards an animal much more sizable and ferocious than Professor McGonagall's bespectacled grey tabby. He thought of the collection of toy dragons flying over her bed that Charlie Weasley had given her for her birthday two years back. "Maybe Aunt Gin can help you control it a bit."  
  
Hermione kissed her middle daughter's head, a head that was a darker mirror of her own. "Did Daddy ever tell you what he did to his Aunt Marge when she said something really nasty about your grandparents?"  
  
Minnie began to giggle through her tears. This was a favorite story in the household, though not one in which Harry took much pride.  
  
"Why don't you head on upstairs and get changed," Hermione suggested, sitting next to Minne. "Aunt Gin and Neville are going to be here soon, with Sidi and Auntie Luna and Uncle Ron."  
  
Suddenly, Minerva was all smiles again. "Can we eat with you?"  
  
Harry shook his head, "We've been through this, Minerva. You lot are eating down here, before they get here. That way you can spend some time with them before you head on upstairs."  
  
"Can't I stay while you eat? Sidi can go up and read with Albie. Please? Please?" she wheedled.  
  
Both parents shook their heads. "No," said Harry, "your parents want some privacy. We want to be able to sit around and tell boring old stories about the boring old good old days."  
  
Minnie made a sour face. "That sounds absolutely grotty." She began to skip towards the door, then stopped and turned back to them with a bemused look on her face. "It's funny about Uncle Neville, isn't it?"  
  
"What is, Minerva, darling?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Well, he's so..." She struggled for the word, twisting her mouth to one side. "So... _meek_. I mean, it's so funny that he's this famous wizard, that he defeated Lord Thingy and all." Then she scowled, a mirror of her mother's look of greatest concentration. "And that she married him, Aunt Ginny, I mean. 'Cause there's nothing meek about her..."  
  
"He's a great wizard," Harry said, intently. "You should ask Sidi about him. And your mum and I had a little to do with defeating Lord... Thingy."  
  
Hermione laughed. "A little, here or there. As for Aunt Ginny, you could ask her about Neville, too. People fall in love for the most amazing reasons."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, "look at your mother. How she could have fallen for a useless git like me is beyond all understanding."  
  
"Harry!" squealed Hermione, indignantly, echoed by Minerva's "Daddy!"  
  
Harry smiled, but his stomach was turning, as it often did when he thought about Neville these days.  
  
Minnie blew them both a kiss and then scampered out, slamming the door behind her.  
  
" _Finite incantatem_ ," Harry muttered, trying to still the clattering salad tongs with his wand. They continued to toss, gleefully.  
  
Hermione began to draw out her wand, but Harry stopped her. " _Finite incantatem!_ " When the tongs finally came to rest, he sighed and slid into the chair that Minnie had just vacated. "Hullo, sweetheart," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "It's good to see you."  
  
"Mmm." She kissed him back quickly, and then leaned back. "Do you think I'm going to need to intervene with the Purvy girl?"  
  
"What, do you mean as a mother, or in an official capacity?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Perhaps I should have a squad alter those girls' memories."  
  
Shrugging, Harry ran his fingers through his wife's curls. Greyer, now, he thought. Every day at the Ministry and she comes home a little greyer. "Maybe," he said. "But muggles' ability to deny what they've seen is really remarkable. I don't think you'll have any problems."  
  
"I'm worried about her," Hermione sighed. "Sidi at least always had Xinhua and the Smith girl that she was friends with. Minnie sounds so lonely." She waved her hand to indicate the ancient mansion above them. "I mean, it's not like she can invite her friends over for playdates. Can you imagine what Alice Purvy would say if she saw where Minnie lived?"  
  
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, "she starts every school year this way. Give her another month or two and she'll have a group of friends. I'm not sure why she does this, but I'll tell you what--I'll have her invite a couple of girls to come with Albie and me to the zoo." It wasn't as if he or Hermione had been exactly popular in their own primary school days. And they had managed well enough.  
  
"That sounds like a great idea," Hermione said, stroking Harry's cheek. "Did you get much writing done today?"  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to grunt. "Mmm. A bit." In fact, Harry hadn't been able to get any work done on his memoirs in weeks. Every time he sat down to look at them, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that no one really wanted to hear about what he had done when he was twelve or fifteen, and, what was worse, almost nothing of interest had happened to him since his graduation from Hogwarts. He was forty years old, and the most eventful part of his life was already almost a quarter-century in his past. Of course, being happily married to the most politically important witch in Western Europe, and having two wonderful daughters and a phenomenally adept, other-worldly son were things to take pleasure in. But not exactly the makings of a bestseller.  
  
Hermione sighed again, gave him another peck, and said, "Come on, Harry, let's get dressed. Then we can feed the kids and be ready when everyone gets here."  
  
* * *  
  
When the doorbell rang, dolefully, the whole family sprinted out into the front hall. Fawkes was squawking from his perch on the wall where a very nasty portrait of Sirius' mother had once hung.  
  
Harry opened the door on five very weary--but happy--looking travelers: Neville, Ginny, Luna, Ron, and his eldest daughter, Sidi.  
  
Sidi wrapped her arms around Harry and then invited the others in. "Welcome to Grim Old Place!" she called.  
  
They all bundled in, wrapped in early autumn cold.  
  
"Siria Lily Potter," scolded Hermione, while wrapping Sidi in a warm embrace, "how many times have we told you not to say that?"  
  
"You always told me that repetition is the secret to learning, Mum," said Sidi, pulling her younger siblings into a family hug.  
  
"Hullo, Harry!" said Ron, shaking his friend's hand. "You're looking great!"  
  
"You too, Ron!"  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, "more prosperous every day!" He patted his thickening middle.  
  
"I'm amazed you can get off the ground," Harry teased.  
  
"I don't have to fly myself, mate! I just have to show little geniuses like your daughter how to do it!" Ron chortled.  
  
"Hullo, Luna," Harry said.  
  
"Hullo." Luna was wearing what looked like a live-or at least, newly caught--catfish on her head. "You didn't take Arithmancy, did you?" When Harry shook his head, stunned, she strode past him into the hall.  
  
"Ron," Harry muttered, shaking his head, "why is your wife wearing a fish for a hat?"  
  
Ron blushed. "It's a Crumple-horned Snorekack. She really wanted to show it to Hermione."  
  
" _That's_ a Crumple-horned Snorkack? I always assumed it was some sort of magical cow or something."  
  
"No, no. It's... yeah, it's a fish. And it's got really amazing powers; really good for settling a queasy stomach, Grubbly-Plank says. And they're supposed to be an aid to concentration."  
  
Well, that's a good thing, thought Harry. "And why did she ask about Arithmancy? I mean, she teaches it; I can't imagine I'd have been able to tell her anything even if I had taken Vector's class back at school."  
  
"Well, she's presenting this paper to a conference of muggle scientists, and she wants to know how to approach things," Ron said.  
  
"Well, that makes sense," Harry said, thoughtfully.  
  
"Yeah," grinned Ron, "that's the amazing thing. Everything she says makes sense--you just have to squint a bit to see the logic."  
  
Neville stepped over from greeting Hermione, his beard looking longer and more luxuriant than ever. He smiled broadly, extending his hand. "Harry, it's so good to see you. Thank you so much for inviting us down!"  
  
"Did you have a good trip?"  
  
"Well, we came on a muggle train, because the Hogwart's Express isn't operating this week." Neville gave a soft frown. "British Rail isn't exactly... _convenient_ , is it."  
  
"No," agreed Harry. Minnie had called Neville meek, and it was an apt word. Neville was as soft-faced and unassuming a wizard as Harry had ever known--no longer the nervous boy that Harry had first known, thirty years ago, but well-established in an air of absolute contentment. Every year that passed made Neville seem more and more like an avatar of Albus Dumbledore--sweet-natured, quiet, but frighteningly wise. Again, Harry felt a twinge of something indefinable in his gut. "How's Sidi doing in Herbology? Hasn't killed too many mandrakes?"  
  
"No, no, she's doing quite well," said Neville, beaming.  
  
"Thanks for bringing her down. I know it was an inconvenience, not being able to just apparate."  
  
"No, no, it was our pleasure."  
  
"Snape wasn't too difficult about her leaving during the term, was he?" Harry asked.  
  
"Not at all. Well, not terribly. The headmaster was..."  
  
"He was his own, horrible self," said a bright voice at Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to see Ginny, his younger children hugging her from either side. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey, Harry. Yeah, Severus was doing his grumble about Sidi coming, till Neville and I pointed out that a third of the faculty were going to be serving as her bodyguards, and that, besides, he couldn't possibly imagine a Potter getting up to no good."  
  
Harry laughed. "You didn't say that to him!"  
  
Neville nodded. "Yes, in fact, she did. I could have sworn I almost saw him give the fleetingest glimmer of a smile."  
  
"Oi, Aunt Ginny," said Minnie, "Mum and Dad want me to talk to you about animal-magus stuff."  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow, a silent question.  
  
"Yes," Harry answered. "She's showing some signs that she might take after her mother and her grandfather. She's having some trouble with it, though."  
  
"Can I learn to become an otter like Mum? Or I'd love to turn into a cute kitten or a puppy."  
  
"You are a cute kitten," said Ginny. "The animal chooses you, though, love. You don't get to choose. And learning to become an animagus is very difficult magic indeed. When you come to Hogwarts, in another--what?--year and a half, maybe we can help you get started."  
  
Minnie's face twisted. "But imagine if you went through all that work only to find out you were something like a warthog or something like that."  
  
Ginny smiled. "I'm sure you wouldn't turn into a warthog."  
  
Albie said, "I think she'd be a dragon, with big gold wings." He smiled at his sister.  
  
Minnie looked stunned, uncertain whether to take that as a compliment or a tease. Ginny looked up at Harry, as if to say, Well, there you go!  
  
"Sidi, Minnie, Albie, it's time for you to head on upstairs," came Hermione's voice, comfortable in command. "Sidi, there's supper for you up in the sitting room." The two younger ones started to fuss, but Sidi stilled them by promising to show them the new charms she'd learned from Professor Flitwick.  
  
Hermione muttered something about the Minister of Magic's daughter having no more right than anyone else to practice magic outside of school, but the children just laughed as they bounced their way up to their rooms.  
  
"Come on," said Harry, "let's eat."  
  
* * *  
  
"Bravo to the chef!" cheered Ron, as they finished eating, almost two hours later.  
  
Harry lowered his head in a mock bow, and they all applauded.  
  
"What a delicious meal!" said Neville.  
  
"Well, it's not quite the Welcoming Feast," Harry said, an odd mixture of relief, embarrassment and alcohol warming him.  
  
"Perhaps not, but it was a welcome feast indeed," Neville quipped, to a chorus of "here, here!"  
  
"Does everyone have enough in their glass for a toast?" asked Hermione. Everyone nodded. Hermione stood, her barleywine in hand. "Twenty-five years ago, we all met at the Hog's Head Inn to try to convince this lout here," she indicated Harry, "to teach us something about how to fight the dark arts. By the end of the year, the five of us were taking what he had taught us into battle with him against a group of adult wizards bent on using those very arts to destroy us."  
  
"My ankle still hurts when the weather changes," joked Ginny, and they all laughed.  
  
If I'd known Voldemort would take most of my power with him when he died, would I still have taught them all? Harry wondered, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, he came to the conclusion that, yes, he probably would have--but it would have been nice to know what the sacrifice would be, beyond the loss of so many friends and mentors.  
  
"Within another two years," Hermione continued, "we had learned enough to take the fight right to the man who thought he could outfly death and bring the rest of the wizarding world under his domination. Neville cast the spell, but it was all of us together who defeated him. Not many people can say that they have saved the world, but bless us, we can." She raised her glass towards the portrait of Dumbledore that hung on the wall, smiling indulgently. "To Dumbledore's Army!" she called.  
  
"To Dumbledore's Army!" came the response, and they all drank.  
  
"To those we lost!" called Ginny, eyes bright. Lord, she's pretty, thought Harry, even with her bright red hair streaked with ash.  
  
And they toasted again.  
  
"To the best of friends--those who are still here," said Neville quietly.  
  
And they toasted again.  
  
"And to those yet to come," added Luna, raising her glass of water.  
  
And they toasted again, though not without some quizzical looks.  
  
Ron looked up and said, "Look, all of you, you're the first we're telling, but... Luna's three months pregnant."  
  
Luna seemed to be patting the Snorkack on her head.  
  
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Hermione said. "We should toast the child!"  
  
"He's going to be a boy," Luna said quietly. "We're going to name him Tom."  
  
They all raised their glasses, and then lowered them as the import of the name sunk in.  
  
Luna put her hand on Ron's shoulder, and then looked around the table. "The Marvolos were my mother's family," she said. "Tom Riddle was her cousin. Dumbledore always told us that it isn't the magic that is good or evil, it is what you choose to do with it. We want to commemorate the good that Tom Marvolo could have done but chose not to."  
  
Harry raised his brandy. "To Tom Weasley," he said.  
  
"To Tom Weasley!" they all answered.  
  
"Hermione," said Luna, "I've been meaning to ask you. I'm presenting a paper at a meeting of the British Society for Particle Physics next month on proto-quarks and the uncertainty principle--the wonderful thing is I can talk with physicists about magic and they haven't the slightest idea that I'm not speaking metaphorically. In any case, I need to know how you think I should dress."  
  
"Ah!" said Hermoine. "Well, in my experience, muggle scientists aren't terribly picky about matters of dress, Luna." And then she pursed her lips. "But I would leave the Snorkack at home..." And Luna, Neville, Ginny and Hermione launched into a spirited debate about wizarding fashion and its effects in the muggle world.  
  
"Congratulations, Ron," Harry said. "I'm so glad you're joining the club."  
  
"Thanks, mate," Ron said, leaning towards Harry. "She's been really insistent about the name. I mean I see her point, but it's like naming the kid Grindlewald."  
  
"The name doesn't define the kid, Ron," said Harry, feeling very mellow now that the meal was done. "For a starter, look at my namesake! How's Fred and Angelina's son doing?"  
  
Ron grinned. "Little Harry is more of a terror than his father ever was. Can you imagine Fred or George with a fully stocked jokes laboratory at their beck and call?"  
  
"Oh, my," was all that Harry could say.  
  
"Hey, by the by, Fred and George wanted to apologize for not being able to make it. They had to go off to Japan to meet with a couple of yamabushi who claim to have the secret to Eversneeze Powder. Alicia and Angelina went with them."  
  
Harry thought about the Weasleys and their wives. "Angelina and Alicia must hate being thrown together all of the time," he said.  
  
"Actually," said Luna airily over Ron's shoulder, "they like each other rather more than they like the twins." The table fell silent again. She looked around, apparently surprised to have surprised anyone. "Well, they always did," she said.  
  
Ron, Harry and Neville all turned to Hermione for confirmation.  
  
"Goodness," she said, "don't look at me. We weren't in the same dormitory; I had no idea what they got up to."  
  
"I did," said Ginny. "They used to snog beneath the stands after Quidditch practice. And I'm pretty sure the twins knew, because I heard George teasing Alicia about wanting to go to the Yule Ball just to be with Angelina." She gave Luna a long look. "But I always assumed it was one of those school experimentation things. You know, LUGs--Lesbians until graduation."  
  
Luna returned Ginny's gaze unblinkingly. "I don't think so," she said.  
  
"Well," said Ron, staring down into his firewhiskey, "I mean... Well. You think you know what makes people tick...."  
  
The table fell into silence for a full minute or two. On the wall, Dumbledore's portrait seemed to be chuckling to himself. "Students," he said, "always concerned with the least important elements of the puzzle..."  
  
A chirping noise broke the quiet. "Oh, damn," Hermione said, fumbling in her jacket.  
  
"What is it?" Neville asked.  
  
"It's a muggle cellular telephone," Harry said. "She carries it in case of an emergency. So far as I know the only people who have the number are the muggle Prime Minister and Minnie's school."  
  
"It's Ten Downing Street," Hermione sighed. "Apparently there's been a dragon sighting just south of Leeds, and she wants some sort of assurance that it's under control. I'm so sorry, all, I'm afraid it's going to be a late night. It's been lovely getting to spend some time with you--I'll see you all in the morning." Buttoning up her jacket, Hermione dashed out of the room, and with a heavy thud, out the front door.  
  
"Welcome to the home of the Minister of Magic," Harry sighed.  
  
"We know the feeling, Harry," said Ginny, and she touched his arm.  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "we barely got to see Dad those last two years, when he was Minister."  
  
"When we did, though," said Ginny, "he seemed so... _alive_."  
  
Ron nodded. Harry put his hand on top of Ginny's, where it rested on his forearm. Her eyes were beginning to glisten again.  
  
Before Harry could think of anything to say, Neville cleared his throat. "I was just thinking," he said, "I wonder how Katie Bell felt. About Angelina and Alicia, and all of that, I mean."  
  
On the wall, Dumbledore muttered, "Excellent question, Neville!"  
  
Ron looked at his wife, but she shook her head. "I barely knew Katie Bell," she said.  
  
"Remember our sixth year?" Ron muttered to Harry. "I had this... crush on her for a while, you know? I mean, with Angelina and Alicia and Fred and George gone, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. But she was in such a foul mood constantly..."  
  
"Do you blame her?" Ginny sighed, pulling her hand back to brush her hair out of her face. "A group of inseparable friends, and not one of them attracted to her."  
  
"Ouch," said Harry.  
  
Neville sighed. "It's funny, watching all of the students, constantly caught up in this romantic whirlwind. They're obsessed with whom they like, with whose interest lies with whom. They think we don't know, but of course, the teachers are aware of every fleeting infatuation, in spite of ourselves." He took his wife's hand and smiled. "I'm relieved to be released from that particular round of sorrow. Being happily married is its own reward, but it does have some side benefits."  
  
Ron and even Luna chuckled.  
  
"Well," said Luna, standing, "I'm going to bed. And not for any side benefits, either. I'm tired."  
  
Ron stood with her, a slightly worried expression on his face. Harry recognized the solicitousness of an expectant father and smiled.  
  
"I must say, I'm knackered," Neville yawned. "But what a lovely evening! Are you coming up, darling?" he asked Ginny.  
  
She shook her head. "I'll be up in a minute, Neville."  
  
He nodded indulgently and followed the Weasleys out the door and upstairs.  
  
Harry sat, surveying the wreckage of the dining room table and sighed. He turned to Ginny, about to ask if she needed anything, but she was sitting, head in her hands, silently weeping.  
  
Harry didn't know what to say. If he had ever considered it, he would have said that Ginny was the strongest of the lot: less driven by fear than her brother, less prone to anxiety than Hermione, braver than her husband, clearer headed than Luna and far less apt to be caught up in emotional turmoil than he himself had always tended to be. "Ginny," he began, reaching out to her.  
  
"Stupid prats," she said. "All of them. They don't even stop to think that you and Hermione would never have a house elf."  
  
"Right," Harry said.  
  
"Come on, I'll help you clean up," she said, pulling out her wand. " _Scourgify_!"  
  
* * *  
  
When Harry carried the last of the dishes in from the dining room--his Levitations were a bit iffy these days--Ginny was leaning, her copper hair falling around her face into the huge stone sink, and she was weeping again, only not so silently.  
  
He put the plates down beside the sink and put his hands on her shoulders.  
  
She spun fiercely and clasped her arms around his chest. "Oh, Harry!" she wept.  
  
"Ginny, Ginny," he said, patting her back, feeling even more useless than he had this afternoon, trying to calm Minnie in almost precisely the same location. Weeping females had never been his strong suit--Cho under the mistletoe, Hermione at the Hog's Head, their first time together--but life seemed to have conspired to surround him with them. "What is it?" he asked, regretting the question almost as soon as he asked it.  
  
"It's nothing," she said, wetly, into his shoulder. "It's... well, it's everything. God, Harry, how can I have made all of the right choices and ended up here?" And she let out a low, long wail into his chest.  
  
"Ginny, I..." Harry began. His own eyes were beginning to overflow, and he wasn't at all sure why. "Why don't we sit down? I can make us a cup of tea, and you can tell me about it." He went to kiss the top of her head, as he would have Minnie's or Sidi's, but she happened to look up at just that moment to say something, and his lips landed right on her open mouth.  
  
They stood there, frozen in an unintended kiss, arms locked around each other. Harry felt his breath and heartbeat cease. The urge to melt into that embrace, to kiss her in earnest, was almost irresistible.  
  
Instead, each stepped back. Ginny's stunned, slack-jawed expression was the perfect mirror of his own astonishment. Harry began to try to say that he hadn't meant to kiss her, or, at least, that he hadn't meant to _kiss_ her. "Ginny, I..."  
  
She held up her hands, palms out, still looking like someone who's been told that the whole world exists according to an entirely unsuspected set of rules. "Make us a cuppa, Harry," she said. "I think we could both use it."  
  
As Harry busied himself with lighting the stove and filling the kettle, he found that his hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, splashing water onto the flames. How long had he wanted to kiss Ginny? An image of her, pale, wet and very, very young on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets filled his mind. Taking her pulse, he had touched her fine, little-girl throat. He had known the basilisk was somewhere nearby, and Slytherin's heir as well, but all that he could think to do was to lean forward... But Tom Riddle had suddenly appeared, and the game had shifted to trying to get as far from Ginny as possible.  
  
Twelve. Sidi's age. Lord.  
  
When he brought two steaming, heavy mugs of Earl Grey to the table, only the slight pinkness around Ginny's eyes gave any evidence that she had been crying. Her chin was lifted in a sort of rebellious challenge when she said, "Harry Potter, you are a rotten, emotionally retarded bastard."  
  
"Me?" he said, sliding the tea across the table to her. He was not going to sit next to her just now. There was no telling whether she might start crying again, and what he might find himself doing to calm her. "What did I do?"  
  
"It's what you never did do till just now, you stupid git!" she said, laughter and anger warring in her face. "Why didn't you ever do that when I actually wanted you to?"  
  
"I... Merlin's beard, Ginny, I don't know." Harry felt himself blushing deeply, as he almost never did. "I haven't... I wasn't... I mean, think about what a mess I was. What did I know? Hermione's convinced that the only reason I got so stuck on Cho was because she was so unattainable--when it finally turned out that she was attainable, I had no idea what to do with her."  
  
Ginny snorted into her tea. "I bet I could have helped you figure out a few things," she said.  
  
Harry gave an embarrassed laugh, as all sorts of half-digested teen fantasies--and some more well-informed adult ones as well--flooded back into his mind. All of them involving silken red hair and pale, pale skin. "I'm sure..."  
  
"It's the whole discussion about Katie Bell that really got me going. I mean, I looked around the table at all of you and I thought: well, there's the famous Harry Potter, and his famous wife, Hermione Granger, the Minister of Magic. Then there's my brother, who was famous as an all-England keeper, but is known too for his exploits with you and Hermione back in the day. His wife, of course, is the most famous Arithmancer around--hell, she's about the only famous Arithmancer in the past couple of centuries. Neville, of course, is not only the Man Who Lived, but a leading Herbologist." She took a deep breath. "And then there's me. The cheese stands alone. You have no idea, Harry..."  
  
"Don't I?" Harry said, more heatedly than he had intended. "Look at me, Ginny. All right, people certainly made a fuss about me when I was eleven, though I never cared. Now? I can barely lift a wand--I'm a useless wizard--and I'm known almost exclusively as my wife's consort and my children's father. So, yes, I do have some idea how you feel."  
  
Ginny gave a sly smile. "What a cheery pair we are, eh, Harry?"  
  
Harry giggled, and they both started to laugh, manically.  
  
"The thing is, Ginny," Harry said, wiping tears from his glasses, "the thing is, we all love you. You've got to take my word for it--I found you attractive then as now. And Ron thinks the sun rises and sets on you--well, you and Luna. Hermione, I mean, if she ever had the hots for you, I never heard about it, but I can tell you she cares a lot more for you than she ever did for her git of a little sister. I don't even want to begin to speculate about what Luna might think or feel, though she clearly has always been fond of you, but Neville adores..."  
  
"I don't want to talk about Neville, if you don't mind," said Ginny, very quietly. Then the flash came back into her eyes and she said, "You found me a attractive, did you?"  
  
In spite of himself, Harry said, "I still do."  
  
They both gazed down into their tea. Harry wished that all of those classes with Sybill Trelawney had actually been worth something, because Harry would desperately have loved to read his future in the sodden leaves.  
  
"So, Harry," said Ginny in a voice of clearly affected nonchalance, "how are things with Hermione?"  
  
Harry chewed on the side of his cheek. He could still taste the image of the accidental kiss on his lips and was torn between wanting to dive across the table and kiss Ginny again on the one hand, and the urge to run out of the room on the other. "Ginny, I..." he began. "We're OK. You know what the job's like. She's at the Ministry anywhere from ten to sixteen hours a day, and that's when she's in the country. That's not even mentioning what a passel of kids do to a couple's level of intimacy."  
  
"I wouldn't know," said Ginny.  
  
"Oh, Gin, I'm sorry, I..." Harry said, though he wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing about. "Look, I've never wanted to intrude, but here we are having this bizarre conversation. Do you mind if I ask why you and Neville haven't had any kids? I've always assumed it was a choice, but, well, is something up?"  
  
Ginny turned several different shades of red, in quick succession. "Oh, Harry, something isn't up, that's the whole problem."  
  
It took a moment for Ginny's meaning to sink in, during which time Ginny's virtuoso color-shifting performance continued, moving her face towards ever darker shades of red. Harry began slowly, "Neville's...?"  
  
"Impotent," Ginny said quickly. If I were telling the story, Harry thought, I'd have said she ejaculated, and wouldn't that have been a terrible joke. "God, Harry, he'd be so humiliated if he thought you knew. But he always has been. He tries so hard to... to please me, you know, but there's not an awful lot of passion in our marriage, no, and Merlin's testicles, Harry, could you warm up my tea, because if we keep talking about this, I think I'm going to die."  
  
Harry gave a nervous laugh, and went to the counter to fetch to teapot. He walked around the table, filled Ginny's cup and sat down beside her.  
  
She looked up at him, flicking a strand of her hair out of her face. Her eyes were dark, and full of questions, and all he could think to do was to reach out and touch her cheek, which was smooth and warm, still damp from crying. She closed her eyes, and he did too, and leaned in until he could feel the heat of her breath on his lips.  
  
"Daddy, can I have a glass of water?"  
  
"Merlin's beard!" Harry said, finding himself standing five feet away from Ginny with no idea how he'd gotten there. His son was standing in his pyjamas, holding a stuffed unicorn by the horn, his auburn curls spraying wildly around his head. "Albie," Harry said, a little too loudly, "what are you doing up? It's way past your bed time."  
  
"Had a bad dream about two lions fighting."  
  
"Here, let's get you a little water and I'll tuck you back into bed.  
  
* * *  
  
When Harry came back down to the kitchen twenty minutes later, he found himself divided between hoping that Ginny would be waiting for him, and hoping that she would have gone up to bed.  
  
She was there, just where he had left her, at the kitchen table. "Everything all right?" she asked, not looking up at him.  
  
"Yes, he's fine, out like a light as soon as he got back into bed." Harry found himself unable to cross the room to sit with Ginny. "We were...?" he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands.  
  
"I think," Ginny said, her fine features set in a determined smile, "that we were contemplating snogging like a couple of teenagers, and then possibly going at it here on the kitchen table for a few hours, and then launching into a really passionate, messy affair."  
  
"Yes." Harry leaned against the door for support. He was shivering with cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth.  
  
Ginny's eyes searched his. "But I don't think we should."  
  
"No."  
  
"Because of Neville. And Hermione."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And your kids."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And because..." Ginny ran a palm across her wet eyes, "because we actually care for each other."  
  
"Yes," Harry said with a moan. "Ginny..."  
  
"Damn," she spat. "Bollocks, bollocks, bloody hell." She stared up at him with a look of dark intensity. "Other people have affairs. They don't give a damn about their families or even about each other."  
  
"But if we were the sort to do that," he said gently, "would we feel the way we do about each other?"  
  
Ginny gave a small laugh, not altogether bitter. "No, I suppose not." She stood, running her fingers through her hair, and the sight made Harry shiver again, forcing him to close his eyes.  
  
"Harry," Ginny said, standing before him. "You're a good man."  
  
Funny, thought Harry, I don't feel at all like a good man at this moment.  
  
"Harry, this is something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. Remus wants to take some time away from teaching. He and Neville think they may have found a new therapy for his lycanthropy. So there's going to be a need for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher..."  
  
"Ginny," he said, still very conscious of her proximity, "I'm useless with a wand, now..."  
  
Ginny snorted. Harry opened his eyes. She was starting to blush again. "Sorry," she said. "I've got a dirty mind tonight." Gingerly, she placed her hand on his wrist. "You're still the best Defense teacher I've ever seen, Harry. Even counting Lupin. Will you let me submit your name to Severus?"  
  
He sighed. "Sure," he said.  
  
She leaned up and gave him an almost chaste kiss on his cheek. "Good night," she said. He stepped forward as she opened the door. "I do care for you, you know," she said.  
  
"Mmmm," Harry replied.  
  
* * *  
  
It was two hours later when Hermione found Harry still sitting in the kitchen, staring into the fire.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she said, "what are you still doing up? It's almost three."  
  
"Thinking," he said. "Want some tea?  
  
"No, just some water, I think."  
  
"Everything all right with the dragon?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes," Hermione sighed "Charlie's team rounded it up with no fallout. Percy insisted on being there."  
  
"What did this have to do with the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"  
  
"Nothing, as near as I could tell."  
  
"I think," Harry joked, a little sadly, "that he must fancy you."  
  
"Harry!" Hermione answered, looking slightly abashed.  
  
He smiled, and she sat next to him, shrugging off her dress robes.  
  
"Did I miss anything?" Hermione sighed.  
  
"No, everyone headed up not long after you left." He took a breath. "Ginny... I think she's in a bit of a funk."  
  
Hermione got her wise look on, staring into the fire with Harry. "I have been thinking she might have been a bit put off by Ron and Luna's news. It seems to me that she and Neville might not see eye to eye about children."  
  
"It's possible," Harry replied, running his fingers along the inside of her arm. "The whole thing about Angelina and Alicia... Hermy, did you ever think of being with another woman that way?"  
  
Hermione turned to look at him. "Is that what you've been thinking about this whole time, you randy bugger?" She gave a little smile and looked back into the fire. "Of course I've thought about it. Most people do, I suppose."  
  
"I suppose." He leaned forward and kissed Hermione's ear, one of her more sensitive spots.  
  
"Harry," she said, pulling away, "I'm too tired."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Maybe tomorrow night."  
  
"Maybe." And he kissed her again, lightly, on the cheek this time.  
  
Her eyes bored into him. "I'm sorry, Harry."  
  
"No problem," Harry sighed. "Ginny wants to submit my name to Severus to take over for Remus while he's on leave for a week or two."  
  
"Oh?" Hermione said. "Are you interested?"  
  
"I don't know. What do you think?"  
  
The dying fire threw a dance of light and shadow across Hermione's face. "I think, if you want to do it, it's a lovely idea."  
  
Harry nodded. "Come on, let's get up to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Harry and Hermione are married here. That got this fic bumped off of SIYE. :shrugs: Be patient. Trust me. It's worth-while.


	2. 1 - Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been talked into returning to Hogwarts as a substitute teacher, and must confront his own loss of power, questions about his past, and a very attractive Transfiguration professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. 40-year-olds acting silly. Two 40-year-olds drinking fortified spirits. :shrugs:

This is ridiculous, Harry thought, as he stared down from the Head Table into the sea of faces that was the Great Hall.  
  
Many of those faces were clearly focused on him, making him feel less as though he were getting ready to eat than that he was himself some exotic dish about to be served up to the assembled crowd.  
  
"It's all right, mate," Ron muttered into his right ear, "they're all dying to get to know you. They've been hearing a million stories about what an amazing Defense teacher you are."  
  
"Oh?" asked Harry, feeling the panic claw its way slowly up his throat. "Who told them all those stories?"  
  
"We did, of course," said Ginny Longbottom's voice in his other ear. "Me and Ron and Neville, you stupid git."  
  
"Thanks a lot," Harry muttered. He leaned across Ron's empty plate. "What about you, Luna? What did you tell them about me?"  
  
Ron's wife was enormously pregnant, looking rather like a scarecrow that had swallowed a somewhat oversized beach ball without letting the air out. "I told them you made very good Beef Wellington," she said, and stared fixedly at the third of the yellow banners that marked Hufflepuff—Hufflepuff!—as last year's winner of the House Cup.  
  
"So, Neville," Harry said, desperate to discuss anything other than his own stupid decision to take over teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for a few weeks while Remus Lupin was on leave, trying out a new treatment for his lycanthropy. "Excited that your house won the House Cup last year?  
  
"I must say," Neville said, stroking his beard with his usual look of vague surprise and pleasure, "it was an unexpected honor. Only the third time in the twenty-three years since we left school. It's just for fun, of course. Though I must admit, it's rather a pleasure to get a break from the yearly merry-go-round of red and green and blue."  
  
Harry looked up into the ceiling, which revealed a gathering spring storm and a half moon peering through the clouds. "I wonder how Remus is doing," he muttered.  
  
"He promised to send us regular owls," Neville said. "Of course, I made sure he had a half dozen, in case the treatment was less than effective, and he ended up eating some of them."  
  
"Poor old Moony," Harry sighed.  
  
There was a clicking just beyond Neville, someone hitting a silver goblet with a spoon. A tall, crooked figure in black unwound itself to a standing position, silver-streaked, greasy hair swinging back to reveal a severe, hooked nose as he stood. The headmaster.  
  
When the hall had fallen silent, he spoke, his face as usual twisted into a sneer of displeasure. "So kind of you to quieten your impulsive little mouths," he said, his low voice managing to carry more undertone than actual volume. "As you all know—those of you who have actually managed to pay any attention at all—our _beloved_ Defense teacher, Professor Lupin, is taking a leave of absence for the next two weeks. He's doing this to see if he can't make it easier to keep himself from devouring students every time the moon is full. I told him he needn't have bothered, that most of you are good only for werewolf fodder, but," Snape sighed, "he insisted."  
  
It was a testament to how much the students trusted and respected their headmaster that most of the children seated at the front of the hall—the sixth and seventh years—actually laughed. Harry was shocked—he had been well into his twenties before he had even begun to appreciate Severus Snape's biting humor.  
  
"Since I have no desire actually to teach any of you," Snape continued, once the laughter subsided, "I have been obliged to find a substitute for Professor Lupin. The man you see between Professors Weasley and Longbottom—the redheaded ones—was, Professor Lupin assures me, the finest Defense Against the Dark Arts student he has ever taught. I cannot tell you how surprised I was to hear that, since Harry Potter was, as I remember far too clearly, an unparalleled disaster in Potions, exceeded in his ineptitude only by our _learned_ Hufflepuff House Head, Professor Longbottom. The brown-headed one."  
  
Neville lead the laughter this time, which swept all the way to the back of the hall. How could one not laugh with Neville?  
  
When the hall had settled back into an easy, pleasant silence, Snape's voice sliced out once more. "Please disappoint my expectations—as you so often do—and make Professor Potter..." Snape smiled thinly, delighting in the agony of anticipation in the assembled crowd as they waited for him to finish, " _welcome._ "  
  
The warm burst of applause washed over Harry like a rolling, open-sea wave, leaving him stunned in his seat.  
  
"Get up, Harry," whispered Ginny into his ear, and he stood, a little shakily, to the continued ovation of over a thousand Hogwarts students. As he stood there, trying to smile as they clapped, he saw his eldest daughter Sidi jumping up and down and applauding like a mad woman back among the third-year Gryffindors. Harry's heart fluttered. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he said through clenched teeth.  
  
"You'll be brilliant, Harry," Ron said.  
  
"Right," Harry muttered, sitting back down again, as the applause died away.  
  
"And now," Snape called out with a flick of his stiletto-like wand, "let us eat."  
  
The table before them groaned, as the bowls and platters filled suddenly, and Harry sighed, surveying his first Hogwarts meal in almost a quarter century: steak and kidney pie, mashed potatoes, French beans, and, incongruously, a mound of curried tofu.  
  
"Could you pass that to me?" Luna said.  
  
"She's decided to go high-protein vegetarian," whispered Ron. "Makes me nervous--I want her to eat well..."  
  
Luna was devouring the tofu and the beans with a gusto that Harry had never seen her exhibit toward anything aside from Ron himself, her numbers, or beasts that even the wizarding community considered mythic.  
  
"She'll be fine," Harry said.  
  
* * *  
  
As Harry was shoveling the last of his potatoes onto Ron's plate—how had he ever eaten so much when he was sixteen?—Sidi's black mop bounced its way up to the head table. "Hullo, _Professor_ Daddy!"  
  
"Hullo, Sid." He peered down at her bright, wry face. "You know, I rather like sitting up here and looking down at you. Keeps you from getting ideas, I hope?"  
  
"You wish!" Sidi snorted.  
  
"Miss Potter," hissed a voice behind Harry's shoulder, "you will please show the teachers due respect. Even if they have the misfortune to be related to you."  
  
Harry glanced back to see Professor Snape's sneering face glaring down past him with that same look of disdain he remembered so well from his own days at Hogwarts. "Professor," he said, "surely it wouldn't be seemly for her to show more respect for me than does the headmaster himself?"  
  
The former potion master's eyes gleamed for a split second, and he moved on.  
  
"Harry," said Ginny, breathlessly, "did you just make a _joke_ with the headmaster?"  
  
Sidi was gawking up at him, as were several of her friends.  
  
Harry grinned. "See, Sidi," he said, "I actually did have the courage to be a Gryffindor, once upon a time."  
  
"I always thought so," Sidi said, "but now I know." One of the boys next to her, Fred and Angelina Weasley's son Harry, was frozen in an expression of transcendent awe.  
  
"I know that look, nephew," Ron grumbled, every bit the Quidditch coach. "Don't you start getting any ideas. It's taken your godfather thirty years to work up the courage to try that with Professor Snape; I'd be happy if it took you that long."  
  
"Because if it doesn't," Ginny said, "you'll never be able to eat a meal without a Sneak-o-scope in hand again. The headmaster knows poisons so subtle, so terrible, you'll be begging for us to kill you within five minutes..."  
  
Even Luna got into the act: "Of course, you'll have to hope we understand the language of whatever creature it is he's transformed you into."  
  
The students goggled up at them, uncertain whether the teachers were joking or not. In fairness, even Harry wasn't all that sure.  
  
"Come on, Siria," Harry Weasley said, apparently deciding they were having him on, "I need to look at your History notes..."  
  
Sidi waved over her shoulder as her friend led her out of the hall. "Bye, Daddy!"  
  
Harry waved back as she disappeared. "See you tomorrow."  
  
Ginny's hand squeezed his shoulder. "She's really something, you know."  
  
Harry grinned. "Yeah, cute and smart. Good thing she got my dad's rat-nest and my mum's eyes, or no one would believe I had anything to do with her...."  
  
"Stop it, Harry," said Ginny, and then she leaned very close to his ear so that he felt rather than heard the next words, "or I'll come back here tomorrow morning and read to the entire assembly some very racy poems about what I wanted to do to a certain fourteen-year-old green-eyed boy."  
  
Harry laughed, as he felt the blood rush to his face. "God, Ginny, you wouldn't!"  
  
Neville's warm voice intruded. "Don't believe it, Harry. There's very little she wouldn't do when she's got her back up." He smiled, scratching his beard. "What has she threatened you with?"  
  
"Uh..." said Harry.  
  
"I was threatening to get up and read all of my schoolgirl scribblings about him in front of the Great Hall."  
  
Harry buried his head in his hands, and Ron and Neville both howled with laughter, Ron until his face was nearly the shade of his hair.  
  
"What a sweet idea," mused Luna. "I have some sonnets I wrote about Ron from back then..." And they all collapsed.  
  
"It's so nice to see the young faculty bringing some life into the school!" said a high, merry voice from the vicinity of Harry's elbow.  
  
"Hullo, Professor Flitwick," said Harry, madly wiping his eyes and glasses. Clumps of students where staring up at the Head Table as they walked out, clearly considering the possibility that the teachers had all gone mad.  
  
"Good luck tomorrow, Harry!" said the diminutive Charms teacher, "I remember my first class as if it were yesterday! Advanced Levitation charms! A third-year inadvertently turned me upside down and dropped me out the open window..." With a nostalgic smile and a wave, he headed off the dais and out the door.  
  
Suddenly sober, Harry stood. "Right, I should probably try to pack it in early tonight."  
  
"You staying in Remus's rooms?" Ron spluttered, his face blotchy and red. When Harry nodded, he continued, "I'll walk you there."  
  
* * *  
  
Ron walked Harry into the Defense classroom. "I saw some of those poems, once," Ron said, still tittering. "If they're the ones I'm thinking of, Merlin's beard, Harry, they're really... _colorful_!" And he broke into a wet, snorting guffaw.  
  
"Why didn't you ever tell me about them?"  
  
"You've got to be joking, mate! First of all, what boy wants to know some girl is writing wanky bloody poetry about him?" I'm not sure I would have minded, Harry thought. "Second of all, Ginny swore she'd stick her wand up my bum and do a Bat Bogey Hex on my colon if I ever told!"  
  
They walked up the stairs into the office, which was crammed with the same tanks of eerie animals that Harry remembered from Lupin's first stint, along with a couple of battered dark detectors. He thought of the various teachers he had visited--or been forced to visit--here. And now, for a few weeks, this was _his_ office. He turned to the door at the back of the room--just past the fireplace where he had held his last conversation with Sirius--flicked out his wand, and attempted to unlock it. " _Alohomora._ "  
  
The door remained locked. "Want me to get it?" Ron asked, a little embarrassed.  
  
Harry sighed, and shook his head. " _Alohomora,_ " he said again, and this time the door gave an audible _chunk_ as it unlocked. What had possessed him to think he could teach? He was barely a wizard these days...  
  
They entered Remus's sitting room, which was, like Remus himself, plain and threadbare, but also, like Lupin, permeated with some indefinable warmth. The only decorations were four pictures on the mantle: Lupin's family, a picture of the second Order of the Phoenix, with Ron's parents still alive and waving happily, a snapshot of an infant Harry with his parents, and, in pride of place, a glowering picture of Sirius, clearly taken during that long last year at the house that Harry now shared with Hermione, Grimmauld Place.  
  
"I always wondered how he could have stood Sirius's death," Ron said. "I mean, you were devastated, Harry, but Remus, the only time I saw him show any emotion at all was at the Order's memorial service. I mean, just imagine, to have been separated for all those years, then finally get the opportunity to be together, only to have Sirius _die_..." Ron and Harry both stared at the photo.  
  
Harry began to feel his heart choking all of the breath out of him. Even now, twenty-five years later, he missed Sirius. He missed them all: Dumbledore, Ron and Ginny's parents, Hagrid, even Professor McGonagall. But mostly, he missed Sirius. And somehow, time hadn't taken the ache away, just made it part of the everyday backdrop. How could Remus stand it?  
  
"Look, Harry," said Ron, still looking at Sirius's portrait, "I wanted to ask you something... a little embarrassing."  
  
Harry looked up at his friend. "Is something wrong?" Ron began to pinken. "What is it?"  
  
Ron began to scratch his head, almost compulsively. "It's about Luna," he said, very quietly. "She's... she's like a wild woman. I mean, there she is, like a beached whale, in a really amazing, beautiful sort of way, but she's incredibly... _randy_."  
  
Harry pursed his lips to keep himself from laughing when Ron peered at him.  
  
"Is that normal?" Ron asked, sounding truly worried.  
  
It was Harry's turn to laugh at Ron's discomfort. "How should I know?" he asked. Ron's face fell, and so Harry said, "Yeah, Ron, I think it is perfectly normal. And you might as well enjoy it. Because in another month or so, your love life is going to take a serious trip south."  
  
Ron's face seemed to be pulled between relief and alarm. "I guess I'm just worried we might be hurting the little bugger."  
  
"I'm sure you're not," Harry said. They both laughed, a little nervously at first, and then, as they saw each other's faces, with the same drunken abandon as at dinner. Finally, they settled into an exhausted calm.  
  
"What's your first class tomorrow?" Ron asked.  
  
"Oh, fine, kill what little good humor I have going. It's NEWT-level," Harry said with a shudder. "I think the only reason Snape accepted Ginny's recommendation was that he knew I'd never survive the first hour. They'll eat me alive!"  
  
"Nah, Harry, they're good kids, that lot. Two of the Quidditch captains are in that class, and my niece, Alithea. I promise they're excited to meet you."  
  
They hugged, and wished each other good night, and Ron made his way out of the room, shaking what was left of his red mop.  
  
When he heard the door to the outer office close, Harry walked forward and picked up Sirius's portrait in its plain black frame. Where the other frames showed signs of dust and disrepair, this picture was plainly, pristinely clean.  
  
Something vague filled Harry as he gazed at Sirius's battered face, which was smirking up at him and seemed to be peering around Remus's room. He thought of Dumbledore's words: _a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature._ But why? Why do we have to feel? Why do we have to care?  
  
As galaxies of thought and feeling wheeled through him, Harry put down the frame.  
  
A muffled footstep on the classroom stairs announced a visitor. The office door creaked, and sharper footsteps approached. Harry stepped forward to open the sitting room door.  
  
Ginny was standing, ready to knock, a very dusty bottle in her hand. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Professor, have you been peering into your Foe Glass?"  
  
"Why, Professor?" Harry asked, leading her inside. "Are you intending me grievous bodily harm?"  
  
"Only if you're really, _really_ lucky," she joked, and handed him the bottle. "Firewhiskey. Old Aberforth distilled that himself. Gave it to me and Neville as a wedding present--about four years after we were married, but who's counting?" She smiled wistfully--it was a smile that melted Harry just a little every time he saw it. "Anyway, Neville never touches anything stronger than port, and I don't have the inclination very often. So I thought we'd drink a toast to your success."  
  
"Firewhiskey," Harry said, wiping the dust off the cork, "perfect. In honor of my going up in flames tomorrow. Ouch!"  
  
She had kicked him, with swift efficiency that made him wonder, not for the first time, why she'd decided to come back and teach rather than stick out her Auror training. "You _are_ lucky, aren't you?" she joked, as a Sneak-o-scope began to whir on the desk.  
  
"Yeah, luckiest bloke alive, for letting you talk me into this," Harry muttered, looking around for glasses. All he could turn up was a single, chipped tea mug that looked as if anything approaching a full measure of liquid might overwhelm it entirely. He turned it uncertainly.  
  
"We'll drink from the bottle," Ginny said. "I promise, I'm not contagious, and even if I were, this stuff can probably kill anything it doesn't cure."  
  
"Ta," said Harry, pulling the cork. A lambent flame danced briefly from the bottle's mouth. "To my survival," he toasted, and tipped a dollop of the whiskey into his mouth. Smooth and hot, it went down like liquid smoke, warming him to his fingertips. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Thank Aberforth the next time you're down at the Hog's Head. That stuff's amazing."  
  
Ginny took the bottle. "I haven't seen him down there in a while. Last I heard he was in semi-retirement, back with his goats."  
  
"Oh, dear," Harry said.  
  
"To the best Defense teacher I've ever seen, and don't you make some smart comment, Potter, because I'm looking right at him." She lifted the bottle in a salute, and then drank. "Wow, indeed!" she said, giving a small shudder. "That's definitely the good stuff."  
  
"Come on," Harry said, walking over to the battered, graying couch opposite the fireplace. "Take a load off."  
  
With an almost negligent flick of her wand, Ginny lit the fire and sat beside Harry, kicking her feet up on to the two planks on boxes that served as Lupin's coffee table and revealing pale calves beneath her black robes. "So," she sighed, "how's Hermione? Anything new at the Ministry? How are the little ones? And what's she doing with Minnie and Albie while you're here?"  
  
Harry took another drink and placed the bottle on the table by Ginny's feet. He tried hard not to stare at her legs. "She's got an intern from one of the education committees serving as nanny. Minnie informed me by Floo right before dinner that the young lady was really cute, could do all kinds of cool charms almost as good as Auntie Gin, and they were going to paint their nails before bed. So I've clearly been replaced." When Ginny gave him a threatening look, Harry just held his hands up and laughed. "Hermione's tried to clear out some time--there's an American delegation coming over next Tuesday, but other than that, she's going to be home for dinner every night, which is quite a change of pace. Nothing new at the Ministry. Mostly approving budgets and legislative agendas. And complaining about your brother."  
  
Ginny sighed as she down another gulp of firewhiskey. "Yeah," she said, "Percy doesn't have much good to say about her either." She shook her head, and then put her hand on his elbow. "Hey, is Hermione doing okay? About her dad?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "She's gone from being a bit of a zombie that first month or two to bouts of tears and anger. I feel so horrible for her, but, I mean, what can I do? Just listen." It's not like I'd ever had my parents to lose, he thought. And he saw Hermione's tear-stained, frightened face the last time they'd tried to make love, all of those months ago. "Most days, she's just fine. Then suddenly it'll all come crashing down."  
  
"Look, I've talked to her, but..." Ginny began, her voice trailing off when she saw Harry understood. "If there's anything I can do, let me know."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
They stared into the hearth for a moment, each feeling the whiskey send its smoky tendrils further out into their bodies. At the same moment, they both began to speak.  
  
"Ginny, I..."  
  
"Look, Harry..." After another moment, Ginny said, "You first."  
  
"Yeah. Look." Harry examined a small, orange stain on the floor. "About the night of reunion dinner..."  
  
"Oh, God, Harry," Ginny blurted, "that's just what I was going to say..."  
  
They fell silent again. Determined not to act like a fifteen-year-old, Harry pressed on. "I'm really sorry about that. I acted... like an idiot." She flipped her hair behind her ear and looked at him, dark-eyed and inscrutable. "All those questions about Neville and his... problems. And talking about me and Hermione. And about wanting to kiss you since we were here..." With an indistinct gesture he indicated the building whose weight seemed to be pressing down in on him.  
  
She looked at him, her brown eyes deep and unreadable. "You didn't say that."  
  
"What?" Harry asked.  
  
"You didn't say you'd wanted to kiss me back then."  
  
"I didn't?" Harry laughed, a note of mild panic beginning to etch its way into his voice. "I thought I had." He lunged for the bottle and downed another slug of whiskey. This was exactly the direction he hadn't wanted the conversation to take.  
  
She shook her head and leaned back against the arm of the couch. "No, I think I would have remembered that," she said.  
  
"The thing is," Harry went on, feeling the moisture seeping from his palms onto the green glass of the bottle, "it was such a weird, confusing exchange. But I'm not sorry it happened. And I'm glad we made the decision we did."  
  
She looked at him, her head slightly canted, as if she were trying to get a better view. "Yes, it was rather weird, wasn't it? And there would have been all kinds of hell to pay if we'd, you know, made the different choice."  
  
Harry began to take another swig of firewhiskey, but put the bottle back on the table. Anywhere but her eyes, Harry found himself thinking. Or her throat. Or... He found himself once again looking at the stain on the floor, wondering what on earth could have left so peculiar a color.  
  
He felt her hand slide across the back of his. "Harry, I'm glad it happened, too--that weird, fluky, how-did-that-happen kiss. And I'm sorry it happened. And glad Albie popped in and we decided not to, you know, do anything." He looked up and her eyes were brightening and he thought, Merlin, if she starts to cry I think I'll melt. "And I'm sorry we decided that way, too. But," she said loudly, her eyes widening, "we're still good friends and it isn't going to change anything, right? It's just something else we shared, right?"  
  
Harry nodded, numb.  
  
She drew her hand back and crossed her arms as if she were cold, in spite of the blazing fire. "Well... What are you teaching tomorrow?"  
  
Harry groaned. "Ron quizzed me on the same thing, Ginny. Why is it the two of you are so fascinated with my teaching schedule?"  
  
Ginny fixed him with a practiced glare. "I have _no_ idea why my brother might do _anything_. As for me, I happen to have a free block tomorrow at the end of the day. I was wondering if I could stop by and watch. But if I'm _prying..._ "  
  
Harry snorted. "Yeah, I knew it, you just want to watch me flounder about like a Flobberworm."  
  
"Harry!"  
  
He held up his hands. "It's the Gryffindor third-years last thing tomorrow. Sidi's class. I'm more scared of them than I am of the sixth- and seventh-years I'll be teaching right after breakfast." He looked over to her. "I, um, could actually use some moral support."  
  
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man, Harry."  
  
"Yeah," he muttered. "So you said once." He reached up, recognizing the impulse to run his fingers through her hair almost too late, and adjusted, giving her shoulder an awkward squeeze.  
  
They both smiled.  
  
"I've got to teach tomorrow, too. Time for me to get to bed," Ginny said, and stood, a little wobbly. "Whew. I'd forgotten how quickly that stuff goes to your head."  
  
Harry picked the bottle up and began to hand it back to her. She shook her head. "I'll tell you what, Professor. I'll come by tomorrow night and we'll toast your auspicious first day."  
  
She was just about to open the door when Harry said, "Ginny?"  
  
She turned around.  
  
"Ginny... Ginevra. Thank you. For believing I could do this. It means a lot to me."  
  
Ginny smiled and shrugged. "You're welcome." And then she let herself out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some revelations that have come out since I originally wrote this, such as house heads having been sorted into that house as students and only one of Harry's peers becoming a teacher, I can't make work without making a mess out of the story. Oops.
> 
> Still, I like most of it. :-)


	3. 2 - Riddikulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry faces his first class, his daughter, and a few surprising fears...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A fairly direct rip-off of the PoA Boggart scene. But I did it for my own reasons, really!

When Harry wandered down to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, it was hard to tell whether the sick twisting of his stomach was the result of dread or too much firewhisky the night before. He seated himself once again between the Longbottoms and the Weasleys and tried unsuccessfully to eat a bowl of oatmeal that Ron had placed before him.  
  
"I feel like I used to before a Quidditch match," he said. "It seems as if Oliver Wood should be walking up to me any minute, shaking like a leaf, and telling me not to worry."  
  
Ron just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, then looked up at the ceiling. "No Flying today," he said, watching the spring rain pouring down over their heads.  
  
A lanky, black-clad wizard stepped behind Ron, walking towards his seat on the other side of the Head Table. "Potter," he said.  
  
"Theodore," muttered Harry, as the potions master walked to his seat. Harry had hardly seen Nott since they were at school together, when he and Blaise Zabini had been the first Slytherins to join the DA. From Sidi, Harry knew that he was an incredibly demanding teacher, though (unlike the current headmaster, Harry thought) fair. Yet seeing him still filled Harry with the same ambiguous disquiet that had plagued him during that last year at Hogwarts--learning to accept these two apparent enemies as allies, if not friends. Zabini had been easier--he had never been one of Malfoy's hangers-on, had never gone out of his way to taunt or sneer at Harry or his friends. Learning to trust Theodore Nott--who had made a occasional fourth with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who had looked so much like the young Severus Snape that Harry had glimpsed in Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve--had been one of the most difficult things Harry had ever done. Yet Nott had earned that trust and repaid it--it had been he, not Harry, who had saved Hermione's life in the second, final battle in the Death Room. If not for Nott, there would be no Sidi, no Minnie, no Albie. Amazing what difference a small choice--to trust or not to trust--can make.  
  
Ron considered his friend as he devoured his second helping of bangers. "No reason to be nervous. We've all been there and we've all survived." He gestured up and down the table with a sausage on his fork.  
  
Harry shook his head. "Yeah, but you were all fully qualified wizards. You know what a disaster I am with a wand--you saw it last night," he whispered.  
  
"Listen, mate," Ron said, very earnestly, "it's not what you can do, it's what you know. And you know more about fighting the Dark Arts than any wizard I've ever known, except maybe Dumbledore, Lupin and old Moody."  
  
"Wish they were here. They could teach the bloody class." Harry was searching the Griffyindor table for Siria. He spotted her black mane once again halfway back, once again seated beside the bright red Weasley head of Harry's godson and namesake.  
  
"You'll be brilliant," Ron said. "Listen, my classes are washed out today. You mind if I audited your NEWT-level lot?"  
  
Harry laughed. "Another one? What, don't you Weasleys trust me? Or do you all want to watch me crash and b... Ouch!"  
  
Once again, Ginny had aimed a sharp kick at his shin--this time his left. "Keep it up, Potter, and I'll aim higher next time."  
  
"And I'm sure Hermione would approve, seeing that she thinks three kids is enough." Harry rubbed his leg. "Merlin's beard, Ginny, nice way to lend moral support!"  
  
She smiled pertly. "You're welcome." Her husband, who had been chatting with Professor Flitwick, laughed heartily.  
  
Sidi was waving to Harry from the doorway. "See you at the end of the day, Professor Daddy!"  
  
Harry waved back, and felt the familiar climb of his stomach into his throat. Almost match time.  
  
"Come on, Ron," he sighed. "If you want to watch this fiasco, I need to get there in time to set something up."  
  
* * *  
  
Harry was sitting on the front of the desk when the students began to trickle in. From the notes that Remus had left, he knew that there were twenty-eight of them, half sixth-years and half seventh-years, evenly split among the four houses. This surprised Harry. In his day, Slytherins mostly hadn't bothered with advanced Defense, any more than Hermione or Harry would have needed to take NEWT-level Muggle Studies. So many of them in those days came from houses where Dark Magic was being practiced regularly that they already had a good working knowledge of how to defend themselves against it.  
  
Ron was seated in the far back corner--much as he had done during Umbridge's tenure--but the students barely paid him any notice as they deposited their bags and found their seats. From the moment they came in, they all focused up at Harry. Their expressions ranged from mild curiosity to burnished anticipation. Bright sixteen-, seventeen-, and eighteen-year-old faces, all waiting.  
  
He took a slow breath, tried to look each of them in the eye, and asked, "How many of you can conjure a Patronus?"  
  
Their eyes widened, caught off-guard, as Harry supposed he had intended. All but a couple raised their hands, though a few were less than decisive. The few who had not looked slightly sullen--need to salve those egos, Harry thought.  
  
"Corporeal?" Harry quizzed.  
  
Almost half of the hands dropped.  
  
Harry nodded. "Thanks. Hands down. That's better than I would have thought," he said. Then he stood up. "I learned to conjure a fully corporeal Patronus when I was thirteen." Several jaws dropped. A stunning strawberry blonde in the second row--Bill and Fleur's daughter Alithea, Harry was certain--gave a lopsided grin and shook her head in disbelief.  
  
Harry held up his hands and smiled. "I'm not trying to brag. I only learned to do it because Professor Lupin had the patience and skill to teach me and because I had to--there were over a hundred Dementors guarding the school that year from an escaped convict, but no one protecting us from them.  
  
"But the actual reason I brought the question up at all was to help you understand why Professor Lupin could speak in such glowing terms about a man who is, now, not much more than a squib."  
  
Now the looks of awe melted into incredulity.  
  
"Most of you have heard--from Professor Binns, or somewhere else--how I had the honor to fight with just about every member of the faculty here to defeat the wizard Tom Riddle, who called himself Voldemort. Some of you may even know that I had shared a number of _links_ with Riddle--our power was intertwined in ways that gave us each a certain amount of leverage over the other. When Professor Longbottom... When Neville..." He turned to Alithea Weasley and said, "You know, it's hard for me to think of anyone with hair as red as your aunt's as being 'Professor Longbottom.'" The class laughed, Ron loudest of all.  
  
"Anyway, when Voldemort died, he took with him much of the reservoir of magical power that I had. I still can cast spells, I still know the magic, but I can safely assure you that each of you could easily wipe the floor with me in a duel."  
  
Harry gave them a second to mull this over. One short, white-haired boy, a Gryffindor, looked as if he might almost have wanted to try to challenge him then and there.  
  
"So during the next couple of weeks, Professor Lupin and I have decided that I should focus less on the practical end of Defense--the end that he teaches so peerlessly. I'm going to be stressing, well, not theory, so don't get too disappointed. I want to see if I can get you _thinking_ defensively. I am going to see if I can help you understand not simply how and when to use the spells, but why."  
  
A few of the students whom he had begun to lose, whether because they couldn't conjure a Patronus or because it was hard to take a Defense teacher seriously when he admits he can't out-duel you, now began to nod.  
  
Okay, thought Harry, first part done. Now onto the fun and games. "So, before I launch into things, I figured there were probably some questions." Hands shot up all around the classroom.  
  
Harry pointed at a dark-skinned boy with brilliant blue eyes. "Yes? Your name?"  
  
"Krishna Finnigan, Professor. May I ask, what happened to your scar?" The boy looked around shyly to see if the others thought this question too trivial.  
  
No one seemed to; all were looking up at Harry, awaiting his answer, though some clearly didn't quite understand the question.  
  
Harry smiled. Perfect. "Good question. I went to school with your parents, Mr. Finnigan, did you know?" The boy nodded. Harry smiled. He probably knew most of their parents, when it came to that. "Well, here we are. That question actually gives me the opportunity to begin the lesson. But I'm not going to answer it myself. Miss Weasley is going to do it for me." Eyebrows popped up all over the room. Ron cocked his head.  
  
Harry could almost have laughed, then and there, but he knew he had to play the whole thing out. He turned to Alithea, whose small portion of Veela blood made her seem to sparkle, even though she looked utterly perplexed. "Reach beneath your chair, Alithea. You will find a sealed piece of parchment. Good. Please open it and read it to the class."  
  
The girl flicked a strand of hair out of her face and read, "Many of you probably know that I carried a lightning-shaped scar upon my forehead; for many years, the scar itself served as my main identifying feature, formed when Tom Riddle had killed my parents and then attempted the Avada Kedavra curse on me when I was just a year and a half old. What you probably don't know is that the scar was the outward sign of a powerful protective charm that my mother had placed upon me. This charm was sealed by a form of magical contract: when Riddle attempted to kill me (since he had reason to believe, incorrectly, that I was fated to bring about his downfall), she begged him, 'Kill me instead.' Which he quite mercilessly did.  
  
"When he turned and attempted to use the Unforgivable Curse on me, however, he discovered to his own detriment that he had bound himself into a pact with my mother. She hadn't said, 'Kill me first,' you see, but rather, 'Kill me _instead._ ' It implied a promise to spare me. So when he attempted the curse, it rebounded on Riddle, almost destroying him. The symbol of their bond was burned into my forehead: that lightening-shaped scar. And wizards who didn't know me from Morgan le Fey learned to recognize that scar, for it symbolized Voldemort's first defeat.  
  
"When Riddle came back, a decade later, destroying me became one of his overpowering ambitions. He attempted to kill me, one way or another, six times during my years here at Hogwarts, yet each time the charm that my mother had formed from her own love and sealed with her death defeated him utterly. When he performed the Resurrection ritual to bring himself back to full corporeal being, he even used an ounce or two of this malapert blood of mine, thinking that having my blood flowing through his veins would allow him to get at me--he still hadn't understood the covenant he had bound himself to.  
  
"That is the main weakness of the Dark Arts. They give the practitioner great power, but they tend to blind him or her to the oldest, most intrinsic form of magic there is: the magic of love, trust and loyalty.  
  
"In any case, when Neville Longbottom finally fulfilled the prophecy that Voldemort so feared, the pact to which my mother had bound him dissolved, and the visible sign of that pact--my scar--disappeared." Finally finished, Alithea Weasley placed the parchment on her desk and looked up, wide-eyed.  
  
"Thank you, Miss Weasley. Now, that probably raises a few dozen more questions, but before we get to them, I have a question for you: how did I do that? How did I get the answer to Mr. Finnigan's question under Miss Weasley's desk?"  
  
The students looked at each other, stumped. A mousey Slytherin girl threw her hand up and asked, "Are you a Legilemens?"  
  
Harry shook his head and smiled. "No, even in the days when I still had all my magical faculties, Professor Snape informed me that the same 'lack of subtlety' that so compromised my potion-making made me a poor mind-reader."  
  
He walked into the middle of the classroom--the students at the front turned to watch. "Look," he said, "there are two ways that I could have managed it. The first would involve Legilemency, a very nifty Conjuration, and possibly even time-travel. Well, I've admitted that I'm not a Legilemens--I'm not even much of a wizard these days--and I promise you, even with the Minister for Magic for my wife, the Department of Mysteries would be very unlikely to have issued a Time Turner for my use today."  
  
He looked around. Ron's face was as expectant as the rest. "Can any of you spot the other way to do it?"  
  
The students began glancing around the room, trying to see if anyone else had solved the riddle. They slowly began to shake their heads.  
  
Harry smiled. He had assumed that the most advanced class would be the least likely to spot the solution. "Each of you," he said, "look beneath your desk."  
  
Bemused expressions on their faces, they all bent down. And immediately began to laugh.  
  
Each of them came up holding a piece of parchment.  
  
"There are another fifteen or so hidden in various spots around the room. Each has the answer to a different question that I thought it likely a student would ask--Mr. Finnigan, you are actually holding my answer to the question, 'What is the meaning of Life?'--that being something that Professor Weasley over there used to like to ask whenever a teacher solicited questions."  
  
Ron gave a loud bray of laughter, and the students tittered along with him.  
  
Harry walked back up to the front of the class. "That's a variation on an old Muggle card trick. I learned it, in fact, from a Muggle stage magician named Tom Riddle." Ron nodded, remembering their trip to the past. "Tom Riddle, Sr., that is."  
  
A murmur ran through the class.  
  
"The point," Harry continued, "is that it's easy after six or seven years in these halls to begin to think that magic can solve every problem. That magical threats are the greatest threats. Trust me, a Muggle with a machine gun can be every bit as lethal--if not more so--than a wizard with a wand in hand. Start to broaden your minds. It doesn't have to involve an incantation--it can still save you. It needn't have been brewed in a cauldron--it can still kill you.'  
  
* * *  
  
At the end of the class, the students all filed past him, smiling--each having returned his or her scroll to its hiding place and promised not to divulge the events of the lesson to any other students. They were sworn to secrecy, now part of the joke.  
  
"Bloody brilliant," Ron said, pounding Harry's back. "I told you you'd be bloody brilliant."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Thanks. I always said, if they still had a Divination class here, you should get the post. Doesn't mean I'm not going to make a complete idiot out of myself with the Hufflepuff fourth-years I've got next."  
  
"Nah, go on. You'll be great." Ron cocked his head. "Oi, I've always wanted to know: what _is_ the meaning of Life?"  
  
"'The meaning of Life is the process of finding meaning in living,'" Harry said. "I read that once, in a book."  
  
Ron snorted. "Yeah, too deep for me. Listen, there's some maintenance I've got to do on some of the old Cleansweeps if I want them to be at all flyable. I'll see you at lunch?" As he headed out, he bumped into Neville, who was just coming in.  
  
"Hullo, Harry!" Neville said, cheerfully. "I have a free block, and I was wondering if I could watch some of my fourth-years in action."  
  
Harry shook his head, and Neville's face fell. "It's fine, Neville!" Harry laughed. "You're welcome to sit in. It's just... are you all afraid that I'm going to kill the students, or are you afraid that the students are going to kill me?"  
  
Now Neville began to laugh too. "No, no, no! It's not that, Harry! Well, I suppose it is that, a little. I mean you've been so nervous... But we're all excited that you're here. The DA classes you led were some of the best lessons I ever had at Hogwarts. And that's saying something."  
  
Harry felt himself beginning to redden. "Thanks, Neville." The students had started to trickle in. "Look, you'd better find yourself a place to sit."  
  
The lesson went almost as well as the previous one had. The question that came up was the one that Harry had thought the most likely to be asked: "How do you manage without magic?" It had allowed Harry to launch immediately into his discussion of defending yourself without recourse to a wand. The students had seemed quite excited by some of his ideas.  
  
The third class, after lunch, hadn't gone quite as well. First of all, Luna had sat in, which was distracting--in part simply because she was Luna, and in part because she had to sit on the stairs, as she was too pregnant to sit behind one of the desks.  
  
It was a group of first-year Ravenclaws, and, as Harry had expected, they hadn't been quite as easily misdirected as the older students. One girl, a Muggle-born named Sachiko, had been able to spot immediately how Harry had pulled off the trick. Still, they listened respectfully as he made his points, and several of them waved shyly as they left the room, all promising not to tell anyone 'the secret.'  
  
Harry refused to believe that he had ever been that young.  
  
The third-year Gryffindors began to file in, and Harry's stomach began to lurch again. Siria mouthed "Hi!" as she walked to her desk.  
  
As Harry was about to start, Ginny walked in and closed the door. "Sorry I'm a bit late."  
  
"Not at all... Professor. Have a seat."  
  
Harry found himself regretting that he had agreed to let her sit in. He knew what pheromone-detectors thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds could be. He was certain that they could see the tension between him and Ginny like a vivid red cable, simultaneously pulling them together and pushing them apart. It was one thing Harry didn't want this class seeing--particularly the black-haired student sitting in the third row, directly between himself and Ginny.  
  
He took a deep breath. "By now you've probably heard that I'm not going to be doing a whole lot of practical work in this class--though I hope the other students haven't been too forthcoming about just what I _am_ going to be doing?"  
  
There was a sort of muttering laugh and a nodding of heads. Harry Weasley muttered, "The sixth- and seventh-years just sit there smirking. Won't say a word."  
  
"Good for them," Harry said. "I made them promise not to tell--at risk of Professor Nott brewing something particularly nasty for the one who blabs."  
  
The class let out a communal "Ewww!"  
  
"However, Professor Lupin did leave me special instructions for the third-year classes, in the unlikely event that a Boggart happened to appear here in the castle while he was gone. His classes have dispelled so many of them over the past few decades, I can't imagine why they wouldn't want to hang around." Another laugh, and Harry smiled, relaxing slightly. "As it turns out, a young Boggart has been spotted in the Hufflepuff common room. I've gotten permission from the Professors Longbottom to bring the third-years in there to have a go. So we'll have to put off the famous mystery lecture until our next meeting--Thursday morning, yes, Miss Potter?"  
  
Sidi nodded, trying to look serious. "Yes, Professor Potter." Over her head, Harry could see Ginny grinning brightly.  
  
"So!" Harry called, "books away, wands out, and follow me. This is going to be a practical lesson."  
  
As they filed excitedly through the halls, down towards the kitchen and the Hufflepuff dormitories, Harry discussed with them the basic typological differences between the Scottish and British species of Boggart, and reviewed the basic theory of Boggart-dispellment. "Remember," he said, "that your greatest fear three months ago may not be your greatest fear today. So you've got to be very sensitive to your own psyche, to what it is that would terrify you most if it were to walk out of... _that_ door."  
  
Several of the Gryffindors jumped when he pointed at the large, round wooden door that marked the entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitories. Most of them probably hadn't even been down to this level of the castle--even those who knew the kitchens were here. And he was fairly certain that these students were still young enough not to have begun sneaking into other houses' rooms. At least he hoped so.  
  
"Professor?" Harry said to Ginny. In the torchlight, even the ashen highlights in her hair seemed to glisten.  
  
She walked forward and gave the current password: " _Mandragora bifurcata_."  
  
"That's common two-legged Mandrake," Harry whispered to Sidi.  
  
" _Daddy!_ " Sidi whispered back hoarsely. Either she already knew this information, or didn't wish to be seen to care.  
  
The huge round door swung outward, and Ginny played the welcoming hostess, ushering the students inside.  
  
Two Hufflepuffs--including one of the fourth-years that Harry had met that morning--looked up at the invading army in some astonishment.  
  
"It's all right, Harris, Jennings. Professor Potter's class are going to help us get rid of our pesky little Boggart friend," Ginny said soothingly. "Oh, and Jennings?"  
  
The older student, who was wearing a prefect's badge, said, "Yes, Professor?"  
  
"Please let everyone know that my husband will be setting a new password this evening." Ginny chanced a very small wink to Harry, which he answered with a smile. Even in these peaceful days, you couldn't trust one house with another house's password.  
  
The boy looked greatly relieved, and set himself up to watch the show, along with the girl, Angelica Harris.  
  
The remarkable thing about the Hufflepuff common room, Harry realized, was that it was so _cozy_. Huge overstuffed chairs and poufs crowded the room. Bright paintings of various magical plants that Harry recognized as the work of Professor Sprout, Neville's predecessor, obscured the oak-paneled walls. There were two fireplaces, half a dozen teapots and, Harry realized with some surprise, not a bit of the stony medieval bravado of the Gryffindor common room nor of the dark elegance of the Slytherin lair.  
  
Harry arranged the Gryffindors facing a small breakfront cupboard that was squeezed against the same wall as the front door. He looked around and found the girl he had thought would benefit from tackling the Boggart most: a willowy, nervous West Indian girl. "Now, Circe," he said, as reassuringly as he could, "what do you think is the thing that most frightens you, just now?"  
  
The girl's high cheeks became pinched and the blood seemed to have drained from her dark-skinned face. She muttered something Harry couldn't quite hear.  
  
"What was that, Miss Taylor?" Harry prompted.  
  
"Professor Flitwick," the girl whispered, and the whole class--as well as the two Hufflepuffs--broke into loud laughter. Circe Taylor looked around with an embarrassed smile.  
  
Harry tried to imagine being terrified of the miniscule Charms teacher, but realized that it didn't matter whether _he_ could imagine it or not. "You should speak with Professor Longbottom--the Herbology professor--about his first Boggart. Circe," he said, "you look like you come from a fairly tall family, yes?"  
  
The girl nodded. "My dad's over two meters tall."  
  
"Well, are his shoes big?" Harry asked.  
  
She held her hands shoulder-width apart.  
  
"And his hat?" Harry continued.  
  
Circe narrowed her hands only slightly.  
  
"Perfect," he said. "Now, when the Charms professor comes walking out of that cupboard, I want you to visualize him wearing those enormous shoes, and with one of your father's gargantuan hats on his head. Then cast the Riddikulus charm, keeping that image as clear in your head as you can."  
  
Circe's face became a mask of determination.  
  
"Ready?" asked Harry. She nodded. "Everyone else stand back--I'll call you forward in turns," Harry said, and then attempted to open the breakfront door with his wand. Nothing happened. "Damn," he muttered and flicked his wand again, this time flinging the door open with a loud bang.  
  
Out of the cupboard stepped the extremely short, and yet extremely terrifying simulacrum of Professor Flitwick, his eyes black with rage, his little fists tightening around his slim wand.  
  
"Riddikulus!" shouted Circe, and instantly the Charms professor was hobbled with a pair of enormous two-tone oxford shoes and a fedora that covered his face to the chin. The class roared with laughter.  
  
"Mr. Weasly!" Harry cried to his godson.  
  
The redheaded boy strode forward with an uncharacteristic look of seriousness. Harry noted that his daughter was watching with anxiety. The Boggart noted his approach and immediately shifted into the shape of a Hippogriff--the younger Harry's fear of flying was legendary.  
  
"Riddikulus!" yelled Harry Weasley, and the Boggart's wings were replaced with those of a hummingbird. It fell to the ground with a thud.  
  
Harry called Sidi forward, since she was next in line, but was shocked when the Boggart took the shape of his red-faced, yelling self. "Siria Lily Potter!" the Boggart Harry howled. There was laughter--nervous laughter.  
  
"Riddikulus," Sidi said, and Harry watched himself sprout an enormous checkered bow tie, but she was clearly embarrassed by the form the creature had taken.  
  
The rest of class took their turns; the Boggart became, by turns, a snake, a dragon, a spider, a Vampire, the Frankenstein monster (clearly a Muggle-born), Theodore Nott, a vaguely nightmarish image of Voldemort, red eyes and all... Ginny took a turn, and the Boggart took the form of a young boy who looked rather like Harry, but whom he recognized as the young Tom Riddle. Harry found himself shaking his head to clear the image of Ginny lying unconscious on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, of his own twelve-year-old's urge to kiss her.  
  
When she had dispelled the Boggart Riddle with a crack, Harry himself stepped forward, anticipating that the creature would either appear as a Dementor or as the mutilated body of one of his children. But instead the figure that presented itself was of a young, bushy-haired girl, her eyes overflowing with tears of disappointment. Harry was so surprised that he nearly dropped his wand. He came to himself and yelled, "Riddikulus!" He was relieved that the spell worked on the first try. The crying girl sprouted the long, pink bunny ears that he had planned for the Dementor. The class giggled.  
  
The Boggart was beginning to destabilize, flashing back through a series of its previous avatars. "Circe," Harry called, "finish it off!"  
  
Which she did, with a loud crack, followed by a hearty round of applause. After looking around, still slightly embarrassed, she treated them all to a deep curtsy. All of the students were congratulating her, even the two older Hufflepuffs.  
  
Ginny, however, was staring at him, thoughtful.  
  
"Professor Daddy," asked Sidi as they shuffled back into the corridor, "what does your deepest fear have to do with Minnie?"  
  
Harry didn't know how to answer his daughter, what to say.  
  
Ginny came up behind Siria and said quietly, "That wasn't your sister, Sidi dear. That was your mother, as she was when your father and I first knew her."  
  
Sidi looked up at him for an explanation. But Harry had none to give. "I'm not sure I understand what that was about, myself, Sid." He looked at her. "And am I really _that_ scary?"  
  
She smiled nervously, but didn't say a thing. And with that, they strode back toward the classroom to pick up their bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so yes. The Boggart scene is indeed a, uh, pastiche. But I think it served a purpose.
> 
> And I'm rather pleased with the NEWT-level class. Did you figure out how he did it? ;-)


	4. 3 - Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry's colleagues throw him a party, he and one particular colleague share some old secrets... and they consider their options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Middle-aged snogging. Ewww!

At dinner that night, Harry once again felt as if the whole sea of students in the Great Hall was looking at him, but this time, he kept getting winks and waves from the students who had actually had his 'secret' lesson. It made him smile--especially when he saw the way the Ravenclaw first-years were grinning at the attention that their older housemates were lavishing on them.  
  
After dinner, the whole faculty (except for Nott and Armstrong, the Astronomy teacher, both of whom had to supervise detentions) decided an impromptu celebration was in order. They led Harry back to his rooms, somehow conjuring bottles of butterbeer and mead out of thin air (whether by magic or slight-of-hand, Harry could not tell) as they went.  
  
He found himself thinking that he was actually somewhat relieved that he would not be celebrating alone with Ginny that evening.  
  
"I'm so disappointed that the headmaster chose not to join us," squeaked Professor Flitwick to Harry as he sipped away at what looked distinctly like an upside-down Shirley Temple.  
  
Grubbly-Planke patted the top of the diminutive professor's head and let loose a huge cloud of pipe smoke. "Since when did Severus ever join in a faculty do that wasn't the follow-up to a cremation?"  
  
This evoked laughter from several of the younger teachers, but Harry was thoughtful. There was a part of him that still felt as if he had to prove something to Severus Snape. He still felt the urge, having completed a very successful first day of teaching, to turn to Snape and say, "Ha! See, I can do it after all!" And he hated that part of himself.  
  
There was much drinking and laughter. Neville and Flitwick, being the two house heads present, forced Harry to stand on the rickety coffee table and sing the school song--Harry chose the tune of "Layla," for no particularly good reason.  
  
At a little past ten, Luna began to look peaky and Ron bustled her off to bed. The rest of the faculty dribbled off in ones and twos until only the Longbottoms were left.  
  
"I've got to go change the password," Neville said through a yawn. "You coming darling?"  
  
"I'll be along in a minute," Ginny said. "I'll just help Harry clean up a bit."  
  
Neville looked around at the scattered debris: bottles, the paper streamer with which Flitwick had spelled out the words of the school song, bags that contained the last crumbs of biscuits and crisps. "Oh," he said, clearly surprised to see the mess. "Right. See you when you get back." Humming "Layla," he walked out of Remus's living room--Harry's living room--and closed the door behind him.  
  
Harry looked up to see Ginny's squirrel-dark eyes on him. "You didn't have to stay, Ginny."  
  
"Nonsense," she said, whipping out her wand. "Mum would have been furious if I'd left you to clean up a mess like this all alone. _Scourgify_!"  
  
When the bottles and bags had all be tidied up and the room was back to its genteel, bare state, Harry turned to thank Ginny, hoping she would leave, but she was sliding onto the couch. Harry stood awkwardly, uncertain that he could sit next to her without doing something he would regret.  
  
Looking around, he saw the bottle of firewhisky where he had put it the previous evening. Not really wanting more, but wanting something to do, he wandered over and picked the bottle up.  
  
"I'd love a sip," Ginny said. "I have something I want to show you--give you, actually."  
  
When Harry turned around, Ginny laughed. "Don't worry, they won't bite! It's just the poems I was telling you about." As Harry sat beside her, his stomach trembling, she pulled a small packet of parchment out of her robes. "I figured it was time to burn them."  
  
"Don't do that!" Harry blurted. "I mean, shouldn't you keep them?"  
  
"Why?" Ginny sighed. "Who for? They're schoolgirl drivel. You think I should show them to Neville? I won't have any kids... They belong in the dustbin. Do _you_ want them?" She held the sheaf up by a corner, peering past them at Harry with a look of amused embarrassment.  
  
"I'll tell you what, Gin," Harry said, "I'll read them and then we can burn them properly, okay?"  
  
Ginny laughed. "Merlin, I used to have fantasies about you coming across these in my sock drawer. Though what you would have been doing looking through my socks, I'd rather not think." Demurely, she placed the papers on the table and began to untie the faded lavender ribbon that bound them. "Listen, Harry, you really don't have to read these. But if you do, just... don't laugh too much, okay?"  
  
Harry nodded and began to read. They were sonnets, stumbling in their meter, lurching in their rhymes, but indescribably sweet--the compulsion of a young girl to describe a feeling for which she had no words. As he got to the seventh or eighth, the imagery began to get more frankly sexual, but again so sweet, since it was clear she was putting words to desires she had no practical experience in. Harry remembered his own dreams and daydreams, thoughts and images, inchoate urges that had burned themselves into his teenaged brain.  
  
When he looked up after finishing the last sonnet, Ginny was sitting with her arms crossed, her face hidden behind a wall of bright red hair. "They're really lovely, Ginny," he said. "I wish I'd..."  
  
"Don't wish for something impossible," she said, picking up the poems and walking over to the fireplace.  
  
"You don't have to burn those," Harry said. "I really wish you wouldn't."  
  
Ginny shook her head. "I think I _do_ need to burn them. There's no point in hanging on to the things I used to think and the feelings I used to feel. I'm forty." She waved the parchment. "Besides, they're terrible," she said, and tossed them into the fire.  
  
With a flash, the parchment was consumed, leaving nothing but black flakes of ash floating up the chimney. As Harry stared at the remains, Ginny sat next to him, opened up the whiskey bottle, and then put it down again.  
  
"Thank you for showing them to me," Harry said.  
  
Ginny shrugged. "I guess I'm glad you saw them. I don't think I could have let them go without that."  
  
"I used to wish for impossible things all the time," Harry sighed. "For my parents to come back, for Sirius to come back, for the world to see that I wasn't I wasn't an attention-grabbing liar like Lockhart."  
  
"Well, that last one wasn't so impossible."  
  
"It seemed like it at the time," Harry laughed sadly. Leaning forward, he took the whiskey bottle. They'd finished a little over a third the night before. He took a swallow and felt the liquid flame ignite his mouth, throat and stomach. "Do you dream of Riddle much?"  
  
Ginny shrugged. "For years I'd have nightmares a few times a week. It's down to every few months, now. But when he shows up in my dreams and says, 'You'll do what I want, you silly girl...'" She shivered. "I knew the Boggart would take his shape, damn it."  
  
Harry nodded, holding himself back from the urge to touch, hold and comfort her.  
  
Ginny looked up at him. "You and I are the only ones left who remember him that way, you know. Before he was Voldemort. There are wizards around who went to school with him, but they never really saw how evil he was."  
  
"I know, Ginny." He couldn't help himself. He took her hand.  
  
She looked up and smiled wanly. "I thought your Boggart was interesting."  
  
Harry snorted. "Yes, very. I mean, I hadn't even thought of Hermione as a possibility."  
  
"Hmm." Ginny withdrew her hand and moved the hair out of her face.  
  
When Harry offered her a drink, she shook her head again.  
  
"Afraid I'm trying to get you drunk and have my wizard's way with you?" Harry joked, furious with himself.  
  
"No, Harry," Ginny said. "I'm not afraid of anything you might do. It's myself I'm frightened of." She let out a long, tired sigh. "I need to tell you something, Harry. When I came to your house for the reunion, I don't think I'd really put words to it, but I had every intention of seducing you."  
  
When Harry said nothing, she continued, rather quickly, "I'd been thinking about it for years, you see. Ever since Hermione became Minister. It was a few years after Neville and I had gotten married, and I'd started to realize that nothing that St. Mungo's or I could do would make him... Anyhow, I'd had this little daydream that had floated through my head for years: what if I'd ended up with Harry? I mean, I had such a crush on you back when we were young. I'd see some poor girl or boy pining away, writing sonnets in the Library or down by the lake, and it would bring all of that flooding back. Love Neville though I did--and do." She sniffed. "Did you ever think about that?"  
  
"What, about having an affair?" Harry asked. "Of course I did. I mean, even before the Ministry and children made any intimacy with Hermione rarer than either one of us would have liked..."  
  
She shook her head. "That too, but no. I was thinking more about how we all paired up, the year that you, Ron, Neville and Hermione left school." When Harry didn't respond she went on. "Did Hermione ever tell you about the big conversation that Luna had with us?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"Really?" Ginny gave a short laugh. "That's amazing. It was this huge, life-changing conversation, and you boys had no idea. Men."  
  
"Yeah, well, clearly you couldn't quite get on without us entirely, or the conversation--whatever it was--wouldn't have happened. When was this?" Harry sat forward, his nervousness evaporated.  
  
"Oh, just before Christmas, Luna's and my sixth year. And it was Luna, of course. Hermione and I were sitting in the library, studying, and Luna just walks up and says to Hermione, 'Have you made up your mind?'"  
  
"About what?" asked Harry.  
  
"That's what Hermione wanted to know. So Luna goggles at her for a second, since the reference of the question seems self-evident to her, of course. And then she lays out this amazing dissection of the dynamic between you, Ron, and Hermione."  
  
When Harry raised his eyebrows, Ginny continued. "She said that both you and Ron cared for each other as much as either of you cared for Hermione, which, in her estimation, was quite a lot. That neither one of you would ever risk hurting the other by asking her out. So it was up to her--Hermione--to choose. Therefore the question: 'Have you made up your mind?'" Ginny shook her head. "The amazing thing was, when she put it that way it all seemed absolutely obvious."  
  
"But why did Luna care?" Harry asked.  
  
"Well, I'd think that would be clear in retrospect. What she said to Hermione was that she liked my brother, but that she knew he'd never date her--Luna--so long as she--Hermione--wasn't attached to someone. That if Hermione wanted to date Ron, that was okay, but it was only six months till the end of the school year, and Luna didn't want to wait around while the three of you stayed stuck in the status quo. Well, Hermione just sat there, looking like someone had just cast some sort of Befuddlement charm on her. And then you could see the little gears start to click--you know the way it is with Hermione. Like one of those computator things Muggles use."  
  
Harry grinned. He knew just what Ginny meant. "Computers," he said.  
  
Ginny dismissed the word with her hand.  
  
"Ginny," Harry said, thinking he knew where this was headed, "how did you feel about all of this?"  
  
She looked into the fire. "At the time, I thought I was well out of it. Remember, I'd been going out with Dean since the end of fourth year. I thought the whole conversation was hysterical: that Luna had seen straight to the center of the problem--the problem none of us had quite recognized--and just sort of sliced through to the bone. Well, Hermione looks up after a minute, once all of the cogs fell into place, and asks me if it would be okay if she asked you out."  
  
"But if you were with Dean, why was she asking you?"  
  
"Come on, Harry, don't be stupid. Anyway, I said fine, go ahead. I think, in the back of my mind, I'd always assumed that she and Ron would end up together, so seeing his best friends together might actually get Ron off his bottom."  
  
"He was really upset with us for a little while." Harry could see Ron's quiet, wounded looks when Hermione and Harry had first begun to share the aura of something more than friendship.  
  
"Yeah, well, unfortunately, so was I," Ginny sighed. "Surprised the hell out of me, and Dean got more than a bit shirty. We finally broke up that weekend of the blizzard that February; he kept yelling at me that he wasn't going--let's see if I can remember this correctly--'going to keep the seat warm for Harry any longer.'" She shivered slightly. "I made up my mind to tell Hermione--and you--that I'd made a huge mistake, that I wanted to be with you as much as I always had, that fighting against the silly crush had made me realize that I actually _cared_ for you. I was so relieved, I felt as if I had finally made the right decision..."  
  
"But," Harry said, dread extinguishing the warmth that the firewhisky had lit in his stomach, "that was the weekend..." Hermione wrapped tightly against him, under the comforters at the Hog's Head. Both of them weeping with awe and terror at what they had discovered.  
  
Ginny nodded. "You two came back from Hogsmeade, once the snow died down, and it looked as if you'd had an Illumination spell cast on you. Ron and I were so happy for you, but we _cried_." Ginny reached forward and drank from the bottle. "Then Ron realized what an amazing creature Luna was. And Neville was so sweet to me. He hung around while I sowed my wild oats for a few years. We hooked up finally at your wedding, actually, and here we all are."  
  
"So if Luna hadn't asked Hermione to make up her mind," Harry said slowly, "everything might have been different."  
  
Ginny nodded. "I think Hermione and Ron would have been very happy together--though can you imagine the yelling? Or your wife and my husband; I can only picture what a _peaceful_ household that would be..."  
  
"Hermione without children," mused Harry. Wonderful a mother as she was, it had been Harry's need for a family that had moved them forward. Would she be happier if there were nothing besides herself, her husband and her work? Perhaps.  
  
"Luna would have been content either way, I think," said Ginny. "We know how happy she and Ron have been together."  
  
Harry smiled, "If she'd ended up with Neville... I mean, can you think of a more ethereal couple?"  
  
Ginny snorted and handed Harry the heavy, green bottle. They had almost finished another third. "So true. In any case, Ron and I certainly weren't going to end up together." She pulled a disgusted face, and they both laughed. "So that would have left you and me."  
  
Harry took a drink. "Yes."  
  
"So," Ginny said, "That's what I was thinking that afternoon, when we were all coming down on British Rail. Looking at Neville, who was talking Numerology theory with Luna, and Ron, who was trying to convince Sidi to try out for Quidditch, and I had this sudden flash that if Luna had never asked that question, or if Hermione had made a different choice, had chosen my brother, or if I had said, 'No, Hermione, I really want Harry all for myself,' then you might have ended up marrying me, and loving me, and spending that stormy night at the Hog's Head with me. And all Hermione ever talks about these days is how the two of you never have the energy or the time to make love any more. And I thought, Right. _I_ have the energy. _I_ have the _need_."  
  
Harry looked at her staring intently into the fire, her features fine and flushed, and the effort not to reach out and embrace her was almost more than he could bear. "Ginny," was all he could manage to say, and she looked at him.  
  
"I know, Harry. It was ridiculous. We got to your house, and all of you hugging Sidi, how happy you were, Harry, and I thought, how could I even dream of mucking this up? I must be a horrible, horrible person."  
  
"You're not, Ginny, you're not." Harry felt feelings swelling up inside him that were so far beyond his ability to name that they almost choked him. "I am happy and so are you, but here we are. _I kissed you_ , Ginny, you didn't try to seduce me. I didn't mean to and all of that, but I did it. And if Albie hadn't come in looking for water, who knows what I would have done next." He ran his hands through his thinning hair. "Do you know how a Time Turner works?" he asked.  
  
She shook her head, caught off guard.  
  
"Every choice that a human being makes moves the entire universe through one door of possibility and away from the junction that led to other doors. Those doors aren't available any more, _but they're still there_ , unused potential. Hermione said Professor Vector called it a Decision Tree--you work your way from the trunk to the limb to the branch. You can never go back without magic, but the tree is still there."  
  
Ginny eyed him warily, clearly uncertain where this was leading.  
  
"A Time Turner transports you back to one of the nexuses, one of the decisions. But here's the thing, Ginny. All through our past, yours and mine, there are hundreds of those decisions that might have led to a different outcome. Luna could have waited to ask the question. Hermione could have answered differently--I know she could have, I know she could just as easily have said, 'Luna, I really want to see if Ron and I can make a go of things...'" Harry paused. "Did you know they... saw each other for a while, after we left school--during your last year, and Luna's?"  
  
Ginny's jaw fell. "No, I didn't know that. Hermione never told me, and neither did Ron."  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah, well, it was rather humiliating all of the way around. I was a wreck--Tom Riddle's death had torn so much of me away that I was a shell for months."  
  
"I remember, Harry."  
  
I bet, Harry thought, and a memory of Ginny sitting at his bedside at the Burrow, just gazing at him, thinking he was asleep, sunlight in her hair, came flooding back into his mind. "We buried your parents and the rest. You and Luna went back to school, everyone else slowly went back to work, but Ron and Hermione kept taking care of me. That fall, the two of them came to me, weeping, both of them, and confessed that they'd been sleeping together for months. At first it had been just that--sharing a bed for comfort--but, I mean, they were eighteen, they were forced together because of me, they'd been best friends for years..."  
  
"Oh, God, Harry, you must have been..." Ginny reached out and touched Harry's cheek, which he suddenly realized was wet.  
  
"At first," he said, "I thought, Great, I don't have it in me to love anyone, anyway, and they were the two people I would most have wanted to be happy together. And then I realized I was angry, furious, but that I no longer had the strength even to do anything about it. Hermione just sat there, a blubbering mess. It was Ron who looked up and said he needed to leave for a while."  
  
Ginny's eyes lit up with recognition, "Yeah! He came and visited the school." She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Harry! That was the weekend he and Luna got engaged!"  
  
Harry nodded. "While he was gone, Hermione and I hashed some things out. She'd kept telling me that the loss of so much of my power didn't mean anything, but she hadn't _touched_ me since the night of the last battle. I was feeling so sorry for myself, I just sort of assumed it was because I was a cripple, a half-wizard, a half-man, that she wouldn't want me any more. But it turns out, she was terrified she might hurt me, might tear open all of the scars." Harry gave a sad laugh. "Not the physical ones. You understand. I told her to tear away, there wasn't much but scar tissue left, but what there was couldn't stand to be alone."  
  
When Ginny had nothing to say, Harry went on, "It's decisions, you see, one after another. A marriage isn't just one promise--'Do you?' 'I do' and you're done. It's a series of hundreds of choices that you make every day, some of them good and some of them bad, and all of them adding to or taking away from something larger than either of the individuals involved." He felt himself wanting to lean in to her. Shut up, Harry.  
  
Ginny turned to face him fully. "Harry," she said, putting up her hand to arrest even the intention of the lean, "we decided not to have an affair. In your kitchen."  
  
"We did."  
  
"Do you think," she asked, and he could tell that she was as afraid of her own impulses as he was in this moment, "do you think we made the _right_ decision?" She was chewing on her lip.  
  
Harry sighed, "I don't know."  
  
"Well," muttered Ginny, "neither do I. I've wanted you for so long, Harry, it's like an addiction. I'll go months, years, and not think about you as anything but my friend and Sidi's dad and Hermione's husband. And then you'll look at me the way you did just now and I melt into puddle, I ache for you so badly. It's ridiculous." Her forehead began to turn deep red. Whether the passion that caused the blush was embarrassment, desire or anger, Harry wasn't certain. "You _do_ feel the same way, don't you Harry? I'm not just letting fantasies and what's left of my hormones blind me?"  
  
He shook his head. What do I say here? he thought. Do I say, I've dreamed of drowning myself in your hair for decades, dreamed of tearing your clothes off for longer than I've known what to do next? Do I say, Well, yes, Ginny, of course I find you quite attractive, and rotten weather we're having this spring, what? "I told you, Ginny. I wanted to kiss you when we were students. I've wanted to..." I'm sitting on a wand-tip, Harry thought. Which way am I going to fall? He took a deep breath and pressed on. "Ginny, I do feel the same way. Look at me. Would I be such a mess right now if I didn't?--"  
  
The fire coughed. Both Harry and Ginny turned toward the hearth as the flame turned green and began to twist. With a loud pop, Hermione's head appeared alongside the wild-haired head of Harry's youngest, Albus.  
  
"Hey, Albie!" Harry said, almost too brightly, "what are you doing up so late?"  
  
"Harry," Hermione said, her smile and voice brittle. "Oh, Ginny, how are you."  
  
"Hi, Hermione. I was just helping Harry clean up--the faculty were all toasting his success today." She, too, was sounding just a bit too cheery.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, "How nice. Harry, Albie's had the nightmare..."  
  
"The one about the lions, Daddy. They're fighting."  
  
"Really?" Harry said.  
  
Hermione nodded, "Guess we were wrong. Anyhow, he just wanted to see that you were okay."  
  
"I'm fine, Sunny Jim. I'm sorry I didn't check in before your bedtime. Is the babysitter fun?"  
  
"She's got a ring in her nose," Albie said, that clearly being the funnest thing his four-year-old brain could comprehend.  
  
"Cool," said Harry. "Listen, Albie, you go get some sleep, okay? I'm fine."  
  
The boy nodded. Hermione nodded. "Good night, darling. Good to see you, Ginny."  
  
And with a poof, they disappeared.  
  
"He have nightmares about lions a lot?" Ginny asked. That had been the dream that had brought him into the kitchen the previous October, just as Ginny and Harry had been about to slide into an embrace.  
  
Harry shook his head and laughed. "He's like a bloody sex detector. He tends to wake up with that dream whenever Hermione and I... You know." Albie hadn't had that dream very often in the past year.  
  
"Oh," Ginny said, looking at him. "Well, clearly he's picking something up."  
  
"Clearly."  
  
Ginny laughed and shook her head. "Guess you do feel the same way I do. Kind of a relief, actually."  
  
Harry laughed too, thinking, there's no shame in the truth.  
  
"On that note, I think I'd better..." Ginny was clearly intending to leave, which Harry thought was an excellent idea. How, then, they ended up tangled in each other, Harry's glasses mashed artlessly against Ginny's forehead, his arms wrapped around her back and his fingers tangled in her hair, Harry had no idea. He felt a rush of desire moving through him like a river flood. The feeling of her tongue, of her hair, the press of her stomach against his, the flash of flame as her hair washed over their faces, her lean, stubbly thigh under his hand.  
  
With a gigantic effort of will, like pulling himself out of a warm, hungry pool of quicksand, Harry broke off the kiss. Ginny's face was flushed, the brown lipstick she wore smeared across her cheek--and his too, Harry guessed. She looked as shocked and feral as he felt.  
  
"Harry," she moaned, "please..."  
  
"No," he said. "I can't."  
  
She looked as if he had hit her. A scream seemed to be welling up inside her, but instead, she let out a deep sob. She unhooked her leg from behind his back, placed her shoe on Harry's chest and pushed him away none too gently. Fingers trembling, she began to close up the buttons that were left on her blouse; Harry had no memory of tearing them off, but he must have done.  
  
Harry watched her stand and walk shakily to the door, and tried desperately to think of something to say to her, but he couldn't. "Bollocks," Ginny snarled, and out she went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The sequence at the end of this chapter is actually the image that launched this whole fic: Harry and Ginny have this very honest, grown-up conversation about their feelings and their relationship, blah, blah blah... and then suddenly find themselves snogging and having no idea how they got there or how to deal with it.
> 
> The sequence where Harry is talking about decisions is the piece I think I'm proudest of in this story.
> 
> If it bothered you that we didn't get a peak at what Harry and Ginny got up to... Well, don't worry. :grins mysteriously:


	5. 4 - Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go from bad to worse; Harry sticks his foot in his godson's mouth; and Harry and Ron do some male bonding.

Harry met Sidi as they both walked down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast.  
  
"Morning, Daddy," Sidi chirped. "You look awful."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said. "Your professors are too fast a crowd for me. Don't tell anyone this, but they threw me a party last night. Had me up on the table, singing the school song, would you believe."  
  
Sidi laughed. Then she got her serious look on--it was when she most looked like her mother. "Daddy, can I ask you..."  
  
A red mop of hair exploded at Sidi's shoulder. "Morning, Professor!" said Harry Weasley cheerfully. "Siria, I was wondering, could I look through your Astronomy notes at the table?"  
  
Sidi nodded. "See you, Dad."  
  
"Did you want to ask me something?"  
  
She shook her head and waved her hand. Clearly, whatever it was, she had forgotten it.  
  
When Harry got to the head table, Ginny had already left. "She got up early this morning," Neville said. "Something about needing to doublecheck that the teacups weren't chipped."  
  
"Who knew there was so much housekeeping to teaching?" Harry joked sourly.  
  
"Housekeeping?" asked Luna with a frown. "I'm not very good at housekeeping."  
  
Harry almost managed a smile. "I mean, all the setting up, preparation, cleaning away. I had no idea when I was a student."  
  
Luna nodded vaguely. "I suppose that's why I like Arithmancy," she said, picking at her tofu scramble. "No bric-a-brac. Just numbers."  
  
"And of course," Neville said to Harry, sagaciously, "you haven't had the pleasure of reading piles of essays or exams."  
  
"Lucky me," Harry said. "Neville, is the Boggart back in the Hufflepuff common room?"  
  
"Yes, it rematerialized in the breakfront just after midnight. Scared a couple of fifth-years who were studying for their OWLs half to death. They caught me just as I was coming back from the do in Remus's rooms--that is, your rooms--and I locked it back in. Good thing it's young," Neville mused, "it's still got a lot of fight in it."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said. "I've got a group of your third-years last thing today."  
  
* * *  
  
Harry's first class were a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws, who were followed by second-year Gryffindors. Harry learned to anticipate the younger students figuring out the trick, but made them feel very special for working it out so much more quickly than their elders.  
  
At lunch, Ginny got up just as Harry entered the Hall. She flicked her wand and the almost uneaten salad on her plate disappeared. "I've got some papers I've got to finish marking," she said to the table at large, and she pushed past Harry.  
  
No one looked up, but Harry felt as if everyone was staring at him. He remembered in a flash just how it had felt to be sixteen, and realized that all the magic and gold in the world wouldn't ever make him want to go back.  
  
Ron, who hadn't even glanced up from his usual heavily laden plate, muttered to Harry, "Oi, want to go flying this evening? Weather looks perfect for it."  
  
Harry began to shake his head, but Ron pounded him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Harry, I saw the old Firebolt in the corner of your living room. When was the last time you managed to shake the dust off of that old beauty?"  
  
With a sigh, Harry agreed, and dug into his shepherd's pie.  
  
The classes after lunch went by in a blur: Professor Mundy, the Muggle Studies teacher, who had been one of the youngest members of the DA, sat in with a group of fourth-year Slytherins, and then Harry had led the Hufflepuff third-years down to their own common room to take on the Boggart.  
  
It seemed to sense his presence, this time, because the cupboard began to shake and bang threateningly as soon as he entered.  
  
The Hufflepuffs acquitted themselves brilliantly; he should have known that their characteristic good humor would have made them aces at dispelling Boggarts.  
  
Harry did note, with some amusement, that Theodore Nott appeared twice more, as did Professor Snape (just once), two vampires and another very stylized Voldemort.  
  
He did not step forward himself, this time. He knew very well the terrifying vision that would confront him: Ginny, as she had appeared just before leaving his apartment the night before, blouse torn and eyes murderous. He had no interest in sharing that image with students from her husband's house. No interest at all.  
  
As Harry brought the students back to the Defense classroom, he saw the crooked, black-cloaked figure of the headmaster waiting at the door.  
  
"Battling Boggarts, Potter?" sneered Professor Snape.  
  
It took what little self-control Harry possessed at the end of a long, trying day not to rise to the bait. He knew the sneer was merely a formality, but in that moment it felt personal. "The class performed brilliantly, Professor."  
  
A black eyebrow arched. "Any dresses?"  
  
Harry smiled. "No, Professor, you were not made to suffer that particular indignity. Though one of the students, whose name I shall not mention, fitted you with a particularly impressive pair of glasses and enormous buck-teeth."  
  
Snape's other brow raised. "And that was supposed to be _funny_?"  
  
The class tittered nervously, gathered their bags, and departed.  
  
When they had gone, Harry sat on the edge of his desk and looked up, knowing what he was going to see.  
  
Severus Snape was standing at the back of the classroom, arms folded.  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you, Professor?" Harry asked, as mildly as he could manage.  
  
"Believe it or not, _Professor_ ," Snape drawled, "I was going to ask you the same thing. The reports that I have heard of your classes have been acceptable. I cannot tell you how that has relieved me. You have managed to pass two days without doing any of the students bodily harm. The last substitute instructor to grace these halls--I brought old Emmaline Vance in to try to teach Charms while Professor Flitwick was at a conference on Finding spells in Crete--managed to send half of the Ravenclaw fifth-years to the hospital wing with a particularly inept demonstration of the Cheering Charm."  
  
Harry gave a tired laugh. "Glad not to have let you down too badly. Sir."  
  
"Yes, well, as to that," Snape stood to his full magisterial height, "I hear some of my teachers were... entertaining you last night."  
  
"Um," said Harry. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it, Professor."  
  
"I was _able_ to make it, Potter. I chose not to." Professor Snape strode toward Harry, suddenly towering over him. "You are here for a purpose, _Professor_. And that purpose is the education of this school's students, not disporting yourself with your old pals from the PA, or whatever you and your buck-toothed wife used to call that pathetic schoolboy excuse for a guerilla band. I wish you to act as a professional, _Professor_ , even though you are not one. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Trembling, Harry nodded.  
  
"Good," snapped Snape. He began to go, but spun on his heels and spoke again, in a much smoother, oilier tone. "I will be attending your first class on Thursday, Professor Potter. I look forward to seeing your _work_." And with that, he was gone.  
  
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, as he began to straighten the room. This evening he decided he would lock the classroom door--students who hadn't had 'The Lecture' were trying to sneak in, and Harry wanted to get as much mileage out of the mystery surrounding his little trick as he could.  
  
As he finished casting the _Colloportus_ spell--it had taken him three tries before the door had sealed shut with a satisfying _squelch_ \--Harry had seen a fringe of red hair poking out from behind the statue of Uric the Oddball, across the hallway from his classroom.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Harry said, not even bothering to turn around.  
  
"Uh," said his godson's very small voice, "Hello, um, Harry."  
  
"Don't let the headmaster hear you call me that, son," Harry said, as the gangly boy sidled out from behind the statue. "You probably heard Professor Snape yelling at me once, just now. I'd rather he not do it again."  
  
Harry Weasley nodded vigorously. Harry put his hand on his godson's shoulder. It was funny: the only sign that his mother had had anything to do with Harry Weasley's begetting was the fact that he was the only Weasley in at least three generations who couldn't blush like a fire beacon at the drop of a hat. But the set of his mouth let Harry know that the boy was embarrassed, whether at being caught or at overhearing Harry's dressing down, he wasn't sure.  
  
"Look, Harry," said Harry, "I'm a big boy. I've been yelled at by Severus Snape before, and no doubt he will yell at me again. I don't care that you heard, and believe me, if the headmaster had wanted our conversation to be private, he would have swooped down on me in the dead of night. I'd rather he did it this way."  
  
The boy's nervous laugh let Harry know that he, too, had been caught out of bounds by Professor Snape late at night. "Still, Uncle Harry, I don't like that he talked to you like that. I mean, it was Uncle Ron and Uncle Neville and Aunt Ginny that threw you the party. It's not fair."  
  
Harry smiled at that. "Professor Snape has many admirable qualities. Fairness cannot said to be one of them. And _you're_ not supposed to know about the party."  
  
Harry Weasley grinned, and Harry felt himself almost involuntarily look around; Fred's son looked so much like his father in that moment that Harry expected an identical twin to poke his head out of one of the other statues on the hallway.  
  
"Look," Harry said, shaking his head and laughing, "I have a couple of questions for you. Do you think you could actually give your godfather a straight answer?"  
  
"Uh, sure."  
  
"First of all, what exactly were you trying to keep Sidi from asking me this morning?"  
  
The grin turned sheepish, and then impish by turns. "Oh. Well, I think she was going to ask you if it was okay if we poked around in your classroom. Just a bit."  
  
"I see. Couldn't wait till the lecture on Thursday?" This elicited a snort. Harry now took a deep breath--he was going to be pushing the limits on the next one. "The next question is a little tougher. I've noticed you and Siria are spending an awful lot of time together. I don't mind that, really, not at all. Honestly. But--and I know I'm prying here, but I feel responsible for both of you--what exactly is your relationship to my daughter?"  
  
Suddenly Harry Weasley looked deadly serious. Though he didn't quite blush, his face darkened, and he looked down at his scuffed shoes. "Nothing," he said. "We're just pals."  
  
Harry felt terrible for having brought the subject up. "That's fine," he muttered. "It's fine either way."  
  
The younger Harry shook his head violently. "It's nothing like that, honest. I just.... I used to hear Mum and Dad talk about being at school with Uncle George and Aunt Alicia, and Katie Bell. How they were always pals together. And you and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione... And that's what we are. You know. Pals. Mum and Alicia are still pals. And you and Uncle Ron."  
  
Harry thought about all of those friends, about Angelina and Alicia, who were always more than pals. "Yeah, Harry, but a lot of those pals... they eventually got romantically involved. They're married to each other, you know? I mean, it doesn't make any difference. It doesn't have to turn out that way, but... Oh, damn, Harry. I won't kill you if you hurt my daughter, though I might want to. I'm just trying to say to you, don't take it for granted. Don't decide you know how she feels. Merlin, don't even decide you know how _you_ feel, alright?"  
  
Mortified, Harry Weasley seemed to be studying his shoes even more carefully. The top of his red head bobbed in acknowledgement.  
  
"Look," Harry said. "I'm sorry. I'll never bring the subject up again, unless you or Sidi do, okay?"  
  
With another head-bob, Harry Weasley scurried off down the corridor, in the opposite direction from the Gryffindor tower.  
  
Oh, bollocks, thought Harry to himself, watching his godson slink out of sight. Another fine mess I've gotten myself in to. Why couldn't I have left well enough alone?  
  
* * *  
  
At dinner, Ginny once again disappeared as soon as Harry stepped onto the dais of the Head Table. Looking down at her half-eaten lamb chop, Ron said, "'S not good that she's not eating...."  
  
Luna looked up from her chickpea stew and mused airily, "Perhaps it's morning sickness."  
  
With a start, Harry glanced at Neville, and immediately regretted it. Ginny's husband stared at Harry and then shook his head. "No, Luna, I don't believe so. No."  
  
Great, Harry thought, someone else who's thinking the worst of me. Could this day get any worse?  
  
* * *  
  
On his way to meeting Ron at the Quidditch pitch, Harry stopped in at his rooms to talk to his family. Kneeling in the fireplace, he wondered whether he should just tell Hermione everything that was happening. After all, there was nothing he'd done that he should be ashamed of--nothing that he should be proud of either, since their last conversation, but he owed her the honesty...  
  
When Hermione's face appeared in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, however, she was clearly upset. "What's wrong, Hermy?" Harry blurted as soon as he could see her.  
  
"Oh! Harry," she answered, her jaw set, her face flushed. "Just Ministry silliness."  
  
"C'mon, Hermione, we've been married too long for me to buy that. Something's eating at you."  
  
It was hard to tell through the green flame, but she seemed to blush--it looked something like Harry Weasley's colorless darkening. "Someone at the Ministry. I just talked to. And... this person was a real prat." Hermione's eyes, so often steely and determined, began to moisten.  
  
Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Percy is a git, isn't he?"  
  
Hermione just bit her lip.  
  
"Look, love, I'm telling you, Percy's fancied you for years," Harry teased.  
  
Usually this approach got at least a smile out of Hermione. Now, however, she wasn't at all amused. "Don't joke about that, Harry, please," she snapped.  
  
"Um, okay..."  
  
"Well, shall I get the children? Minnie wanted to tell you something," Hermione said, suddenly energized.  
  
A few moments later, a young witch with a nose piercing and pink hair brilliant enough to rival Nymphadora Tonks ushered the younger Potter children in to the kitchen. Celestine Smith, Harry thought, right.  
  
"Daddy!" squealed Albie, and plopped himself down in front of the fire.  
  
For the first time all day, Harry felt happy to be where he was. "Ullo, sport!"  
  
"Guess what! Celestine showed me how to play Endless War with cards and I won, Daddy!" Behind Albie, Minnie rolled her eyes.  
  
Harry grinned. "That's great, son."  
  
"Hullo, Daddy," Minerva said primly. Merlin, she looks like her mother, Harry thought. "Could you tell Aunt Ginny something for me?"  
  
"Um, if I get a chance to see her, sure I will."  
  
"Well, tell her that I've been doing that animagus exercise, the one she taught me last fall?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
Minnie nodded sharply back. "Well, I can get through the third step, but I need to know whether I'm supposed to choose what animal to see, or am I just supposed to think about whichever one comes into my head?"  
  
Her serious face made Harry smile again. "I'll ask her."  
  
"It's a dragon," Albie said.  
  
"Albie! Stop it!" Minnie yelled.  
  
Hermione knelt between them. "That's enough. Time to go upstairs with Celestine." After saying goodnight to their children, Harry was alone with his wife again, and wondering what he should say. Hermione broke the silence. "Harry, the American Undersecretary of Magical Education wants to come up and visit Hogwarts next Tuesday. I'd like to come up with him, if that's all right."  
  
"Well, of course it's all right. Hermione, it'd be wonderful to see you."  
  
Hermione nodded her grey curls and let out a breath. "Good. We'll be up there mid-day, and we'll be staying overnight."  
  
"Can Celestine handle the kids? They seem to love her."  
  
Again Hermione let out a sigh. "Oh, yes, Celestine will be just fine. I hate being away from them, though. This is supposed to be my opportunity to spend some more time with them."  
  
"I know what you mean. I've missed you all terribly. I can't sleep properly at night. It's too..."  
  
"Empty. I know." Harry and Hermione stared at each other through the Floo. Harry knew he should talk to her about Ginny and about Harry Weasley. And he was certain Hermione was holding something back. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything.  
  
"At least I'll be able to see Sidi. How is she?" Hermione asked.  
  
Harry thought of the shape the Boggart had taken to try to terrify Siria, and he gave a quick shudder.  
  
"Something wrong?" Hermione queried.  
  
"No, no," Harry said. "She's great. Getting too damned grown-up and too damned smart."  
  
"Ah," said Hermione. "I love you, Harry Potter."  
  
Harry began to feel his eyes fill up. "I love you, Hermione Granger."  
  
Swirling, twisting, Harry found himself back on Remus's floor.  
  
With a sniff, he picked up his old Firebolt and went to meet Ron at the Quidditch pitch.  
  
* * *  
  
He was surprised to run into Ron at the main doors. "Oh, good," Ron said. "I was afraid I'd be late. After dinner, Luna was..." Ron made vague hand gestures, but Harry got the idea.  
  
"Fine, rub it in. Tell me all about your amorous dalliances with your preggers wife. I don't even get to see mine till next week." Harry slung his broom over his shoulder and began to make his way down the hill.  
  
"What, is she coming up for the visit of that American bloke?" Ron asked.  
  
"How do you know about it?"  
  
"Oh, got this very pompous, dry letter this afternoon by owl from Percy," Ron muttered. "He's coming up too. Lots of hints about the importance of the visit, and who should and shouldn't know, all sorts of rubbish like that." Ron squinted at Harry. "Poor bloke. Can you imagine being escorted around by Percy and Hermione? They're as likely to kill each other as not. 'Welcome to England, Secretary Blah-blah, and pardon me while I place my steak knife in the Minister's chest.'"  
  
Harry snorted. Then he became pensive as he strode with his friend down the hillside. "You know, I've been teasing Hermione about Percy fancying her for years. Usually she just rolls her eyes and laughs. But tonight, she nearly bit my head off."  
  
Ron grunted. "Wonder if they got into some sort of row at the office?"  
  
Harry considered that. "Yeah, could be."  
  
They strode into the coach's changing room and got into flying robes--Harry into his faded Gryffindor gold-and-reds and Ron into his all-England royal blue robes with red trim. Which fit him more than a little snuggly around the middle.  
  
"Ought to have these let out a bit," he smiled, and patted himself on the middle. "Anyway, the Gryffindors are practicing on the pitch this evening, so we'll go over towards the lake. Just try not to fall off--the snow-melt'll kill you quicker than the squid, even this late in the spring."  
  
Harry glanced up at the swarm of red-and-gold specks in the air overhead. "Good team this year?"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, looking up. "Best in years, actually. They'd have won both of their matches so far by two or three hundred points if it weren't for the Seeker."  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
"Third-year. Hell of a flyer--almost in your class, but she doesn't have the confidence to _go_ for it, you know?" Ron looked up and picked out a tiny figure zooming high above the stadium. "Circe Taylor. There she is."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry. "I met her. Sweet kid."  
  
Then they kicked off, and Harry felt as free as he had in ages, streaking past Ron, whose wide-tailed keeper's broom was built for stability rather than speed.  
  
At first they flew together just for the joy of it, as they had when they were students all those years ago. Soon Ron brought out a snitch and started Harry on a series of Seeker drills. Harry dove and circled around the bobbing gold snitch, laughing as he caught it and released it, over and over again.  
  
As they landed in the last fading twilight, Harry saw a tall figure waiting on the ground with a broom. "Hullo, Circe!" Harry said as he touched down.  
  
Circe Taylor stood, mouth open, eyes glowing, clutching her broom in both hands. "That was... Professor Potter, you were _brilliant_. I've never seen anyone fly like that. Even when Professor Weasley had Professor Krum work with us during the last Tri-Wizard Tournament...."  
  
Harry looked at Ron, who was grinning broadly. "Uh, thanks, Circe... Miss Taylor."  
  
"Could I?... Is there any chance I could get a lesson from you? Professor Weasley's always saying what I need is to work with a proper Seeker..."  
  
"Of course, Miss Taylor. Of course." Harry shrugged. "Tomorrow evening?"  
  
She nodded vigorously, her windswept dark sponge of hair bouncing as she did. She ran up the hillside, long-legged and springy as a unicorn colt.  
  
As they settled in to the teacher's steam room, Harry peered at Ron through the mist; without his glasses all he could see was a pink oval topped by a bright orange blur. "You set me up, Ron."  
  
Harry heard Ron laugh. "Yeah, maybe. I've tried everything I could think of with our Circe. I thought a little outside help might do the trick."  
  
Harry tossed a spare towel across the small room, knowing he would miss. The heat and steam and the joy of flying seemed to be leeching the day's disappointments out through his pores. "I need to tell you something, Ron."  
  
"Sounds serious, mate."  
  
"Yeah, deadly. Or maybe not deadly, but close enough. And it's not something you're going to like, but I need to talk to someone about it." Harry felt sweat dripping down his chest. For once, he was happy to be blind, not to be able to see Ron's face.  
  
"Is it about Hermione?" Ron's voice, usually so boisterous, was very small.  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
Ron let out a loud, wet breath. "It's about Ginny, then."  
  
"Yeah." Harry closed his eyes.  
  
Ron shuffled damply across the steam room and sat on Harry's bench. "What is it, Harry? I swear, I won't kill you, no matter what it is."  
  
Harry gave a sad laugh. "You know, I said the same thing to your nephew this afternoon. Nearly scared him to death."  
  
"What, Fred and Angie's Harry?"  
  
"Yeah. Asked him what his intentions were with my daughter. What an idiot. Sidi will have my kidneys for breakfast when she finds out. And I won't blame her."  
  
Harry expected at least a chuckle of commiseration, but got silence, broken only by the sizzle of water dripping from the ceiling onto the magically heated rocks at the far end of the room.  
  
Finally, Ron asked, "Harry, what's up with you and Ginny?"  
  
So Harry told his friend everything, starting with the reunion dinner the previous October--the accidental kiss and all of the outpouring of memory and desire on both parts--and continuing through Ginny's angry exit the night before.  
  
When he finished, Harry finally opened his eyes. He could barely make out Ron's profile, screwed up in thought.  
  
"And that's it?" Ron asked.  
  
"I'd think that was plenty!" Harry cried.  
  
"Merlin's beard, Harry, I thought you and she might actually have _done_ something, the way she's been jumping around, the way you flinched when Luna mentioned morning sickness."  
  
"Ron, I was snogging your sister--with our friend Neville's wife. I tore her blouse open. And what's worse, even when I finally said I couldn't go through with it, I cocked that up so well that she's furious with me." Harry let out an anguished groan. "Don't you think that's enough to be gettng on with?"  
  
Ron sniffed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was due to emotion or perspiration. "Look, Harry, I'm hardly one to lecture you on fidelity, and well we both know it."  
  
Harry shook the sweat off of what was left of his fringe of hair. "But you since you and Luna were married, have you ever?..."  
  
"Well, Harry, I haven't actually slept with anyone else, no. But I've thought about it. Had the opportunity more than once when I was playing Quidditch hither and yon. And more than once found myself in exactly your situation--some lovely bird's hand on my fly, looking up and thinking, What the hell am I doing?"  
  
Harry couldn't think of anything to say. The heat and fatigue had struck him dumb.  
  
Ron shifted, bending forward until his head was almost touching his knees. "You remember when Hermione and I came to you? Spilled the beans? I've never felt worse in my life, and that's a fact. Hermione there blubbering, you lying there like a statue. And I thought, Damn, I'll never have a relationship with either of these people if I try to stay with Hermione. You would have always been present--you _were_ present every time we touched each other, every time we talked to each other. I could never really love Hermione, knowing I was hurting you. And I thought, There's someone who loves you, who you care about, even if she is weird and barmy and does wear vegetables as jewelry. Luna and I'd been seeing each other for the last few months of school, and there it was, November, and I had hardly even thought of her since she went back to Hogwarts. But the minute I did, I could see her face and I thought, that's who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Not someone who thinks of me in terms of my family or even my best friend." Ron patted Harry wetly on the shin. "Someone beautiful and sexy and funny who loves me for me. And so I came up here, and that was that."  
  
Harry felt the wetness moving down his face, and he knew it wasn't water. "You're a lucky man, Ron."  
  
"Yeah, I know it." Ron's face stretched into a broad smile that Harry could make out, even through the blur. "And she can do things with that mouth..."  
  
"Yeah, Ron, I'd rather not know, thanks," Harry laughed. "Listen, Ginny told me Luna was the one who sort of... orchestrated the way we all paired up. Did she ever tell you that?"  
  
Now Ron laughed throatily. "Yeah, on our first date. Typical Luna: 'I asked Hermione to let me see you. So it's all right with her.'"  
  
Harry joined Ron. Soon they were laughing giddily.  
  
It wasn't until the cold April evening air hit them as they walked back up to the castle that Harry's mind cleared enough to ask the one remaining question: "What do I do about Ginny?"  
  
Ron looked up at the stars for assistance, but apparently got none, and shook his head. "Forty years of watching her get unchuffed about one thing or another have only taught me this much, mate: when she's done being angry, she'll be done. But till then, you're better off not pushing it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: BTW, in case you're interested, it was in writing this chapter that I made the decision of how to end the piece. See if you can spot the give-away... without peaking ahead! :-)


	6. 5 - Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which after all of the turmoil that has attended Harry's return to Hogwarts as a substitute, he finally enjoys a quiet day... but not without new discoveries and new challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: An implied gay character. :gasp: A painful father-daughter confrontation.

Without a doubt, that Wednesday was the bleakest day of his stay there. Not the hardest. Not the saddest. Just grindingly, devastatingly bleak. With two exceptions.  
  
The class immediately before lunch was a double, Gryffindor and Slytherin second years. Theodore Nott had sat quietly in the back, smirking slightly when one of his Slytherins was able to work out the question trick almost immediately. Harry had praised the boy for his cleverness, asking him if he was sure he wasn't in the wrong class--shouldn't he be in Ravenclaw? The packed room broke out in giggles. Even Nott had smiled, shaking his grey head.  
  
After the class was over, Nott had stayed in his student desk, the same bored look weighing down his fine, delicately lined features.  
  
"Thanks for coming, Theodore," Harry said, not knowing what else to say, since Nott clearly wanted to talk with him. Again Harry was transported back to DA meetings, to memories of Nott standing there in the doorway while he cleaned up the Room of Requirement, never saying anything until Harry wished him goodnight.  
  
"Thank you, Potter. It's..." Nott looked up at the dragon skeleton hanging above his head. "It's a pleasure to see you teach again."  
  
If there was sarcasm there, it was buried far below Harry's ability to dig it out. "You're welcome." Harry looked up from his scrolls. "Theodore... Can I ask you a question?"  
  
The Slytherin House Head shrugged and nodded.  
  
"It's something I've wanted to ask you since the last battle. Since we were last at school." Nott's gaze was suddenly fixed on Harry's, all pretense of ennui melted away. "I would have, but I was, you know, a bit incapacitated for a while. And then we didn't see each other much, and I just felt... funny asking, you know?"  
  
"You've piqued my interest. What is this question that has been burning in your brain for nearly a quarter century?"  
  
Harry blew out a breath. He hadn't meant it to sound so melodramatic. But it was a question that had tickled at his mind and at his conscience for years. "What you did in the Death Room, fighting off the LeStrange brothers when they were about to kill Hermione--that was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. I know I thanked you, and I know she thanked you. But," Harry scratched his head, "why did you do that?"  
  
Nott whistled softly and seemed to be looking up again, though this time he was looking past the dragon. "Do you really not know why?"  
  
"Uh, no," said Harry.  
  
Nott looked Harry in the eye. "Not a clue?"  
  
"Not a one. I mean, I had an inkling..."  
  
"Yes?" Nott said, intently.  
  
"Well, I thought... It seemed to me that perhaps you had a crush on her."  
  
"What, on _Granger_?" Nott said, and for only the third or possibly the fourth time in their whole acquaintance, Theodore Nott laughed.  
  
"Um, yeah," said Harry.  
  
"No," Nott said, a sardonic grin twisting his usually funereal face. "I was in love with _you_ , you stupid plank."  
  
"I... You?... What?"  
  
Astonishingly, Nott laughed again. "You really had no idea?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That I was a fairy boy? A nancy? A poufter? Merlin, I thought I was so _obvious_. Now I see what Severus meant when he said you lack subtlety."  
  
Sputtering, Harry walked over to the back of the room and sat next to Nott. "I... I had no idea. None." Harry looked up at the potions master. "Theodore. I'm so sorry."  
  
"Good lord, why?"  
  
"I feel terrible. You had a crush on _me_?"  
  
"Of course. From fifth year or so on. When I read your interview in Lovegood's fishwrap of a magazine. Potter, nobody in that school knew better than I what it meant to stand up to the Dark Lord. I'd been desperate to do it my whole life. And then I realized, here's this boy just my age, and Merlin's beard, he's actually _doing_ it."  
  
"I thought you wanted to kill me," Harry said.  
  
"What, because I was lumped together with Draco and all the other Death Eaters' children?" Nott gave a derisive snort. "I hated them. All of them. Blaise was the only one in that whole house who truly knew me. When he saw me staring at you in the Great Hall one day during sixth year, obsessing on your eyes, or some such silliness, he just leaned over and said 'If we join Dumbledore's Army, you can look all you want.' It took until the end of sixth year to let him talk me into it."  
  
"And it took me and Hermione until the beginning of seventh year to trust you enough to let you in." Harry shook his head, resorting all of the memories. "But I still don't understand..."  
  
"What, why I saved Granger?"  
  
Harry nodded and shrugged.  
  
Theodore Nott folded his hands on the desktop, his index fingers steepled. "I watched you that whole year. At first I just wanted Granger to go away, and Weasley, too, since one or both of them was always at your side. And Weasley's sister, for that matter, and Longbottom and Lovegood. I used to mutter different ways that I'd like to dispose of them while I was practicing with Blaise at DA meetings. He thought it was hysterical."  
  
"I always wondered what the two of you were giggling about," Harry mused.  
  
"Yes, a barrel of laughs, those tame Slytherins."  
  
"Theodore, that's not what I meant," said Harry.  
  
Nott looked askance at Harry, pursed his lips for a moment and said, "Potter, can I tell you something?"  
  
"Sure, what?"  
  
"It's always rather touched me that you called me by my first name. You are one of only two people who have ever called me Theodore. Unfortunately, the other was my father. Would you mind not calling me that any more?"  
  
"Of course," Harry stuttered. "What should I, um, call you?"  
  
"Nott. It's what everyone calls me. Even Tom."  
  
"Tom."  
  
"You know, Studdiford. The Health and Healing professor." When Harry merely stared stupidly at Nott, he improbably laughed again. "He's my partner. What? You didn't think I was going to be waiting around, holding a silly schoolboy torch for a very straight boy with green eyes and black hair that I used to know? No, thank you very much."  
  
"You, um, wouldn't have been the first, so I'm glad to hear it," Harry muttered.  
  
"Oh?" Nott said. "Yes."  
  
"So what would you like me to call you, then?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nott will do," came the dry rejoinder. "As I said."  
  
"Right." Harry ran his hand under his glasses, trying to clear his vision. "But. You were saying about Hermione. You used to watch us at the DA meetings."  
  
Suddenly the potions master's face became sepulchral again. "I'd never been around people who loved each other like the whole lot of you did, you see. I knew loyalty, of a sort—I felt it to Professor Snape, and to Blaise, and even to my father, the spineless old blackguard. But love? You all glowed with it. Not just desire, either--though there was plenty of that on display at those meetings, to be sure. Did Weasley's sister ever tell you about the night that she and Blaise and I sat up in the Astronomy Tower after curfew, getting very silly on firewhisky and some mushrooms that Blaise had nicked from Herbology?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"No, I would imagine she didn't. The spring before we left school, this would have been. Perhaps a month before we confronted the Dark Lord that last time. She started to get all weepy, and I thought, Oh, no. Here we go, Weasley's sister's going to go on about being dumped by the Boy Who Lived, poor dear. But do you know what she spluttered on about until the moon had set? _How lucky she was to have you, and Granger, and her brother, and the rest of us in her life._ How lucky she was!" Nott gave a snort of mixed bemusement and admiration. "Perhaps it was the mushrooms, or perhaps the whiskey--dangerous stuff, that..."  
  
"I know," Harry muttered.  
  
"I suddenly knew just what she meant. I knew that _I_ was lucky to be with you, to know you, all of you. Even those annoying Creeveys. To be part of something that was larger than just getting high marks or showing my dad or shoving Malfoy's face in it. To have earned your trust, all of yours--or at least to have been granted it, because I realized, in that moment, I'd never done anything truly to earn it, aside from making the walk across the Great Hall that day in sixth year to ask you if Blaise and I could join." Nott touched the tips of his index fingers to his thin lips. "When we were fighting in front of the veil in the Death Room, and the LeStranges were trying to force Granger through the portal, I knew, as deeply as I had ever known anything, that it was all my life was worth simply to stop them, in any way I could." He looked up at Harry, as if waking from a vaguely disturbing dream. "And so I did."  
  
"And so you did. You had already earned our trust, you know. Nott." Harry smiled, and was gratified to receive a slight smile in return. "I just don't know that we recognized it at the time."  
  
"Yes, well, we were all young and stupid. As students are wont to be." He gestured at the desks around them.  
  
"So," Harry said, staring around at the classroom as if for the first time, "do people, you know... know?"  
  
"What? That Tom and I are gay?" Nott snorted again, this time derisively. "If they don't know, they're idiots. The only complaints I ever get are from Slytherin parents who aren't comfortable having their pimply little gargoyles in a house overseen by someone with my _proclivities_. I want to tell them that I've been in a happy relationship with a grown man for twelve years; what possible interest would their simpering prepubescent child hold for me? What I point out instead is that the only purebloods on staff who might take over as head of house in my stead are all Weasleys, by blood or marriage. That usually pulls them up short." Nott's eyes glinted, just a bit cruelly.  
  
"I bet." Harry laughed, imagining Lucius Malfoy having to choose between what he would no doubt have perceived as the greater of two evils.  
  
"Your wife knows, of course. She sent me a letter of commendation for starting the first club for gay and bisexual students here at the school."  
  
"That sounds like Hermione," Harry said.  
  
"Yes, always loved a cause, did Granger." Nott looked at Harry intently. "So, enjoying your return to the old alma mater?"  
  
Harry grunted. " _Enjoying_ doesn't exactly cover it. But it's been very interesting. Teaching. Seeing everyone."  
  
The potions master nodded sagely. "Yes. I suppose it has." He leaned in. "You know, lunch is half over. It's most likely safe to go in--Weasley's sister is probably gone."  
  
Harry gave a grunting laugh. "I guess I _do_ lack subtelty."  
  
"Yes, well, it wasn't you so much as her, I rather think. I'm rather fond of Our Ginevra, but she's about as subtle as one of her brothers' fireworks." Nott stood, walked past Harry, and then turned. "May I give you a piece of advice?"  
  
"Of course," Harry said, still trying to digest everything Nott had told him already.  
  
Nott placed a hand softly on Harry's cheek. "Old loves are like parents," he said with quiet force. "One must learn to forgive them before one can learn to love them again."  
  
* * *  
  
That thought worked at Harry's mind for the rest of the day, through two desultory classes and two dismal meals. Ginny actually stayed through dinner, though she sat on her husband's other side, discussing advanced uses of the Banishing Charm with Professor Flitwick.  
  
Neville picked quietly at his peas.  
  
Even Ron was muted, leaning over only to remind Harry that he had an appointment to work with Circe Taylor that evening.  
  
At the Gryffindor table, Sidi was sitting by herself. Harry Weasley seemed to be eating rather quietly with a group of first-years.  
  
Even one of Harry's favorite meals--prime rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding--held no interest. He picked at it unhappily.  
  
Disgusted with himself, he stood. Rather than leave, however, he strode to the other side of the Head Table, purposefully not looking down at Ginny as he passed her.  
  
When he got to the far end of the table, he greeted Nott and a short, blond wizard who had been a quiet participant at Harry's hazing two nights past. "Professor Studdiford," Harry said, extending his hand, "I didn't get the chance to meet you properly the other night."  
  
The Healing professor gave Harry's hand a firm shake and smiled. "Yes, well, you _were_ rather busy entertaining us from the tabletop," he said.  
  
Professor Grubbly-Plank guffawed.  
  
"Professor Nott told me that you're together." Harry winced inwardly--it sounded to his ears as if he were talking about a pair of infatuated students. How did one refer to grown men who lived together? "I didn't know."  
  
Tom Studdiford smiled and quietly transferred his hand from Harry's to his partner's. "Actually, Nott and I were married five years back. Ministry doesn't recognize it, unfortunately--in spite of your wife trying to set things right. And the headmaster doesn't mind, but he's happiest if we keep it just inside the closet door. Aren't you, Severus?" Studdiford called down the table.  
  
"In fact," hissed a clearly annoyed Professor Snape, "I would be just as happy if all of the students and faculty had their reproductive organs removed prior to coming to Hogwarts." The headmaster gave a long, disgusted look at the assembled throng, landing last on Harry. "Unfortunately, the school governors haven't seen fit to act on my proposal. Yet."  
  
The whole table--and a few of the students--tittered. In the pause that followed, Professor Mundy, the elfin Muggle Studies teacher, muttered, "Thanks for small favors!" which set off laughter from one side of the hall to the other.  
  
On his way back to his seat, Harry screwed up the little bit of Gryffindor courage he had left and stopped behind Ginny's chair. When she looked up, her gaze was cool. "Uh, Ginny, Minerva asked me to run a question by you."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes. She's working on that animagus exercise you were teaching her last fall. She wants to know, at the third step, I think it is, whether she should decide what animal she should be thinking about, or whether to let it simply come to her."  
  
Ginny pursed her lips, and Harry wasn't sure whether she was holding back a smile or holding in invective. Finally she said, very professionally, "Tell her that she shouldn't think about it beforehand, that the animal will just come to her."  
  
Harry nodded. "Albie thinks it'll be a dragon."  
  
"Then it's a good thing you've got a large house, isn't it?" And, in spite of her impassive face, Ginny's eyes glittered with a bit of her usual humor.  
  
* * *  
  
On his way back to his rooms, Harry was joined by his eldest child, who was clearly Not Happy. "Hullo, Sid."  
  
Without a greeting, Siria spat, "Daddy, what did you say to Harry?"  
  
"Say? Um. What has he said to you?"  
  
Sidi sighed disgustedly. " _Nothing_. All day he's sat at the opposite side of whatever room we're in." She fixed her father with a glare that reminded him all too forcefully of her mother. "And when I tried to talk to him tonight at dinner, he just picked at his prime rib and looked up at you as if he expected you to swoop the length of the hall. _What did you say to him?_ "  
  
"Lord, Sid." Harry's stomach was churning around the small bits of beef that he had actually managed to swallow. Her green eyes pierced him, and the determined set of her jaw reminded him that this was, in fact, his child. "I caught him yesterday trying to sneak in to my classroom. I told him off--very mildly, I promise. And then... Isortofaskedhimwhathethoughtyourrelationshipwas."  
  
Her mouth wide open, Sidi simply stared at him.  
  
"Siria, I told him I'd never...  
  
"YOU WHAT?" she bellowed.  
  
"I... I'm sorry, Siria." Harry turned toward her, the better to weather the storm he knew was about to break over him.  
  
"YOU ASKED HIM ABOUT OUR _RELATIONSHIP_? Daddy, how could you?" Her lower lip trembled as it had when Minnie had broken Siria's toy unicorn when she was six. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheeks to fight back a panicked laugh. "Harry is my best friend! We've done everything together here since the day we were sorted, AND NOW HE WON'T _TALK TO ME_! What fourteen-year-old boy do you know who wouldn't be humiliated if the father of one of their friends WHO JUST HAPPENED TO BE A GIRL walked up and asked about their _RELATIONSHIP?_ "  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said, and said again, whenever Sidi paused for breath over the next twenty minutes.  
  
By the time she had wound down enough actually to let him speak, her black hair was flying in every direction. Wild-eyed and panting, she stared at her father.  
  
With what little calm and dignity he had managed to retain, Harry said, "May I say something, darling?"  
  
Siria waved her hand violently and blew a strand of hair out of her face.  
  
Harry took that for a yes. "When I was your age, there were girls I fancied--and girls who fancied me--and we never managed to _talk_ about it. If your mother hadn't asked me to go to Hogsmeade one weekend, I would never have realized that she felt the same way about me that I felt about her."  
  
Siria rolled her eyes.  
  
"I know it seems as if it was all fated to _you_ ," Harry said, "but fate was only part of it. If there's one thing I would do differently if I were to be your age again, it would be to talk to people more, ask questions. Girls. And my other friends too. There were things--important things--about Ron and Neville and the rest that I didn't learn until years later. And teachers too, thank you very much. There were hundreds of times when my life and everyone else's would have been so much simpler if I had just _opened my mouth._ Asked the stupid question. Said the obvious thing that I thought everyone would laugh at or think less of me for."  
  
Siria was looking fixedly at Harry's chest, her eyes overflowing, her chin still trembling.  
  
"Look, Siria, love, I'm sorry if I was stupid with Harry. I'm sorry if I scared the hell out of him." Harry put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked as if she might bite it off. "I know I'm stupid sometimes. But it's only because I love you and care about you. And isn't that better than if I didn't care at all?" Siria leaned forward and cried loudly on his chest. "I promise," Harry said over her sobs, "he'll get over it eventually."  
  
She sobbed even more loudly.  
  
When the tears had gone the same way as the screaming, Harry said, "Look, I'm going to talk to your Mum on the Floo. Want to join me?"  
  
Mutely, Sidi shook her head, threw her bag over her shoulder and walked dejectedly away.  
  
Once Harry had unlocked the classroom--four tries and a curse that hadn't passed his lips in twenty years was all it took--and made his way inside, he, too, began to cry. "Damn it all to hell," he muttered, trying to compose himself as he knelt before the fireplace, a handful of Floo Powder in his fist. He looked up, saw the picture of Sirius, and began to cry again.  
  
It was ten minutes later before Harry was able to stick his head into the fireplace and call out, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."  
  
When his brain stopped twisting and the green flame stopped swirling, Harry was surprised to find, not his wife, but a rigid redheaded figure in a black pinstripe robe, reading the Daily Prophet with a ruler at Harry's kitchen table.  
  
"Hullo, Percy," Harry called out.  
  
The least Weasley-like of the Weasley brothers turned around and peered down at Harry. His brown eyes looked black in the green glare of the firelight. "Ah, Harry. How are you." Not a question, not a greeting, just a statement.  
  
"Fine, fine, Percy. Ron tells me we're going to see you next week."  
  
Percy pursed his lips and clucked with his tongue. "Yes. Yes. I suppose you would be in the know about that."  
  
"Uh, yes, yes, Hermione... briefed me on that." Looking up at him, Harry felt the beginning of a dull headache coming on.  
  
"I suppose that's only to be expected. But Harry, it's quite hush-hush, you know. Very much on the QT. Need-to-know basis and all of that."  
  
"I won't spread it around. Ron assumed that I'd know." Again, Percy clucked softly, and nodded. "Listen, Percy, where's my wife?"  
  
"Up bathing the kidlets, I think." He seemed eager to get back to the paper.  
  
"Well," Harry said, "tell her I called, will you? I have to go work with a student, a classmate of Siria's."  
  
"Ah. Good. I'll tell her." Percy began tapping the Daily Prophet with the ruler, quietly but rapidly.  
  
Harry yanked himself out of the fireplace and was half way down the great staircase before it occurred to him to wonder what the hell Percy had been doing in his kitchen. And how was he reading without his glasses?  
  
* * *  
  
As Ron had said, Circe Taylor was a gifted flier. Even on a school broom, she moved with speed and grace though the air. But the minute Harry began to do two-person drills with her, she became hesitant, diffident. Fearful.  
  
Harry began a drill where he placed himself between her and the snitch. Every time she tried to reach for it, he intervened, and she would back off.  
  
"What are you afraid of, Circe? Professor Flitwick's not here!" Harry yelled as she cringed back from a sure grab of the snitch yet again. "What are you worried is going to happen?"  
  
Circe was on the edge of sobbing, partially in humiliation, Harry was sure, but mostly in frustration at not being able to do something that was so well within her grasp. "I don't want to fall off!" she cried.  
  
"I don't believe you!" Harry shouted as they sped along a hundred feet up in the darkening air. "You are as sure-seated on a broom as any student I've ever seen. You're not going to fall."  
  
"I don't want to get hurt!" she yelled.  
  
"Who's going to hurt you? I'm just keeping you away from the snitch! It's right here, Circe, just grab it!"  
  
Tears streaming back into her hair, Circe screamed, "I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU."  
  
Harry stared at her dumbly, and then veered to follow the snitch. "You what?"  
  
"I don't want to hurt you. I always feel like I'm going to knock you off..."  
  
"Try it."  
  
'What?"  
  
"Try to knock me off this broom. I dare you."  
  
"Pro _fess_ or..." Circe's eyes, still wet, were round and white. Then leaning timidly, she bumped her shoulder into Harry's.  
  
"Is that it?" Harry said. "Harder!"  
  
Annoyed, Circe slammed into Harry again, this time much more forcefully. "Oof!" Harry grunted, but he kept to his broom. "Again!"  
  
This time she collided with him with all of the force that a skinny fourteen-year-old could develop. Her impetus knocked Harry's broom off-line, putting her between him and the snitch. Just as she was about to grab it, Harry chivied back in to her. Circe, however, was ready--she executed a deft roll, and Harry's momentum carried him past her. Before he could recover, she reached out and grabbed the snitch.  
  
"There you go!" Harry called. "Well done!"  
  
They continued the dogfight, Circe whooping with delight and Harry cheering her on, until they both lost the snitch in the gathering darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so, a couple of my favorite semi-original character moments in this chapter... And as a dad of two daughters, believe me, I feel Harry's pain. And Sidi's too. :-)


	7. 6 - Confundus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry writes a letter... and things don't go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Humiliations galore. Freudian dream.

When Harry got back to his rooms, he was exhausted, but some of the misery of the long day seemed to have been blown away by the spring wind. Images remained, however: Sidi's taut, angry face, Ginny, staring up at him at the teachers' table. And Percy, tapping his paper.  
  
Harry spent some time preparing for the next day's classes--he had his first repeat customers, though the first returnees, the Gryffindor third-years, hadn't seen 'The Lecture' yet.  
  
When he finally put down his notes, Harry found that he wasn't sleepy. It was almost eleven, but the thought of drifting over to the very lonely bed in the next room seemed more than Harry could take.  
  
Instead, he pulled out a fresh roll of parchment, and wrote a letter to Remus:  
  
 _Dear Remus,_  
  
 _I hope you're well, that the break has been recuperative, and that the new treatment is going swimmingly._  
  
 _Thank you for letting me work with your (mostly) wonderful students. I've survived almost a full first week without either hurting anyone, as the headmaster seems to have feared, or being dumped out the window, as was Professor Flitwick when he first taught. As you and I discussed, I've focused on forcing them to reexamine some basic assumptions, reviewing basic theory._  
  
 _Believe it or not, a Boggart appeared in the Hufflepuff common room just after you left. It's a young one, too, so I've managed to let both the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third-years have a crack at it; they've performed wonderfully. You will be amused (but probably not surprised) to learn that Theodore Nott seems to have overtaken Professor Snape as the bogey-man of choice with this third-year class. If it's rematerialized again--it seems quite resilient--I'll let the Slytherins and Ravenclaws have a go tomorrow afternoon._  
  
 _It's been nice to see all of the old crowd. Nice, but a bit odd. I've had a series of conversations with my old schoolmates that have managed to force me to reassess quite a number of things. Not an easy thing to do at 41. As you no doubt remember._  
  
 _Being away from my family is terribly difficult._  
  
 _I had the most amazing conversation today with Theodore </strike> Nott. I had no idea he worshipped at your church. It made me realize how little I understood him all of those years ago. And how little I understand now about anything._  
  
 _I am aware that I'm very tired. How do you do this for a whole year?_  
  
 _I can't wait for your return. I barely got the chance to see you before you left, and--much as I've loved teaching--both your students and I know they are in far better hands under your tutelage._  
  
 _Take care,_  
  
 _Harry_  
  
 _P.S. Ginny and I had a bit of a misunderstanding. She's in full, red-headed Weasley dudgeon, something I haven't had to endure in quite a while. I remember Ron not talking to me our fourth year; this feels similar, though I'm hoping it won't last anywhere near as long. I don't know why I'm telling you this._  
  
Harry sealed the parchment and wandered off through the quiet halls to the Owlery. He began to reach for Sidi's horned owl, Merlin, but realized that using him would be asking for trouble. So he reached across for one of the school's barn owls, which nipped happily at his finger, tied the note to its leg, and let it go, saying, "Off with you."  
  
As he watched the dark shape fade into the night mist, Harry felt a pang for the owl he hadn't thought about in years: Hedwig. Since her death, Fawkes had been, in theory, his messenger bird. But it seemed presumptuous to use a creature as magical as a phoenix to carry simple daily notes. Besides, even now, even two decades after Fawkes had come into his possession, the immortal red bird still seemed like an extension of Dumbledore. So Harry used his family's owls for all but the most important—or most ceremonial—occasions. Fawkes hadn't suffered the indignity of carrying a message since bearing Sidi's acknowledgment of her acceptance to Hogwarts. Not that the old phoenix ever complained of any indignity, but it didn't seem right.  
  
Harry missed Hedwig, missed her nips, missed her downy white wings mussing his hair. Walking around Hogwarts, he kept expecting her to come winging in through every open window. Another fallen comrade.  
  
As he turned the corner back into the corridor of the Defense classroom, Harry saw a miserable, hunched figure standing beside the door, apparently trying work up the courage to knock.  
  
"Hello, Harry," said Harry, and his godson gave a muffled squeal and a leap that seemed to want to go in three directions at once, with the result that, when he landed, his torso, head and hips were at odds.  
  
"I didn't see you," Harry Weasley said, unnecessarily.  
  
"Yes," said Harry. "Bit late for a tutorial, isn't it? It's past nine long ago. Shouldn't you be in your dormitory?" Harry fully expected that to elicit a mischievous grin, but was astonished to see the young man's eyes filling with tears. "Harry? What is it? Can I help?"  
  
Harry Weasley looked up at Harry, then up at the ceiling, the tears dribbling back along his earlobes. "Squid..." he sobbed. And then, without another word, he sprinted down the corridor in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.  
  
Squid?  
  
Had the boy gotten involved in some prank out on the lake?  
  
Harry began sprinting towards the stairs down to the entry hall, and then stopped himself. No. This had to have something to do with the mess he had created between the Weasley boy and his daughter.  
  
Harry shook his head and wandered back to his rooms.  
  
Before going to sleep, however, he contacted Professor Armstrong via the Floo. "I hope I haven't called too late," Harry said.  
  
"Not at all," said the balding Astronomy professor, who was wearing what looked like a pair of winter cloaks. "I'm getting ready to head up to the tower for some observations with the first-years, poor dears. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Well, would you mind, as Gryffindor House Head, just peaking in to the dormitories to see if Harry Weasley and my daughter are there? I have this terrible feeling they might be... out of bounds." Harry felt terrible asking, but knew it would be far worse if he decided to trek over to the Gryffindor tower himself.  
  
Armstrong smiled. "It wouldn't be the first time, Mr. Potter. _Professor_ Potter. It's no trouble at all. I have to gather up a few of the Gryffindor first-years anyway. If you don't hear from me, they're safe in the dorms."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, and pulled his head out of the fireplace. He was sure the two of them were fine, but settled himself back in to the couch to wait, just in case.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry dreamed that night, vividly but fragmentedly. Looming figures screamed down at him: Hermione, Sidi, Ginny, Snape, Aunt Petunia. Scrolls of parchment were dancing on desktops. In the corner, a couple was snogging and giggling. At first it was his mother and Sirius. Then Ron and Nott. Then Percy and Hermione.  
  
He woke with a start, a foul cloud still fogging his head.  
  
Thin sunlight streamed in through the tall slit window. The Sneakoscope on the table was purring mildly. A gentle murmur wafted up from the classroom.  
  
With a rush of panic, Harry ran through the office and flung open the door down to the classroom.  
  
The students were just wandering in.  
  
Ginny was seated, once again, immediately behind Sidi. Both looked up at him with identical expressions, first of surprise, and then of barely veiled frigidity. "I assumed that it would be all right if I opened the door," Ginny called up the stairs.  
  
"Yes, of course," Harry said, attempting internally to stuff his heart back down into his chest. He scanned the classroom--yes, there was Harry Weasley, still in a funk, stuffed as far down as his chair would allow, but breathing and present, thankfully. Stepping down the stairs Harry tried to calm himself. Were all of the answer scrolls in the positions where he had memorized them? Yes. He had double-checked them before sending the owl to Remus. He had triple-checked.  
  
Feeling and breath returned to him as he strode behind his desk. "Good morning, everyone..."  
  
"Good morning, _Professor_ ," sneered a cold, sharp voice from the doorway. The headmaster strode into the room. "So nice of you to join us."  
  
"Ah!" said Harry, jumping slightly. "Professor Snape! Well, well... I could, uh, certainly say the same to you. Come in, come in."  
  
Severus Snape glided across the room and sat at the back of Ginny and Sidi's row.  
  
"Well," Harry said, trying to regain his composure yet again, trying not to listen to his nervous, empty stomach turning beneath his robes. "Good morning. When we met on--what, Monday?"  
  
A couple of heads nodded happily. Sidi's and Ginny's barely moved.  
  
"Yes, well, it doesn't seem like that long, ha." No one else laughed. "Well, on Monday, when we went down to the Hufflepuff common room and faced the Boggart, you may have noticed that it took me more than one try to open the cupboard. And you may have wondered why someone who Professor Lupin went on about would be such a, uh, pathetic excuse for a wizard." They stared up at him. Professor Snape seemed to be chasing a small piece of lint around his thumb with his index finger.  
  
In front of the headmaster, Sidi and Ginny sat back in their chairs, their expressions matching masks of skepticism.  
  
What was I trying to say? Harry thought, as he involuntarily checked the clock. Only two minutes had passed. His stiff neck began to sweat, and he could feel the slept-in shirt and robes sticking to the small of his back.  
  
A tall Sikh boy in the front row coughed.  
  
"Sorry," Harry sputtered, feeling that perhaps he had never woken up and his was still enmeshed in that horrible, dreary sequence of anxiety dreams. He looked around. Students were beginning to fidget. "Well, uh, sorry. I'm sure you have a lot of questions--I didn't really get the chance to answer any last Monday. Monday?"  
  
Directly in front of him, Circe Taylor nodded, looking seriously concerned.  
  
"So, Monday, yes. So, questions." Harry looked around. The class stared back at him. "Anyone?"  
  
The students looked around, each clearly waiting for someone else to come up with a question. Snape's eyes never left his thumb. And Ginny was staring at the ceiling.  
  
The Sikh boy tentatively raised his hand.  
  
Harry almost leapt forward and kissed him. "YES!" he exploded.  
  
"Uh, Professor," the boy said, Alan Singh, that was his name, he was a friend of Harry Weasley's, "Do you mind my asking about your Boggart?"  
  
Harry had no idea what he was talking about. This definitely wasn't on one of the scrolls. "My Boggart?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Why are you afraid of Siria?"  
  
"Siria?" Hermione, long-toothed still, weeping. "Ah! Yes. Siria. I mean, no, that wasn't Siria. That was Hermione. My wife. When she was... eleven. The Minister for Magic, when she was. Eleven. And it's very complex, you see. I'm not really afraid of my wife being eleven, I'm just worried, and what I'm worried about, uh, makes me feel like my wife at eleven, uh, crying, does that make any sense at all?" Harry asked, feeling his voice creeping higher and higher as he tried to come to the end of a sentence.  
  
Alan shrugged. He still looked worried that Harry might jump on him.  
  
"Any others? Questions?"  
  
A prim witch with her hair in three extremely precise plaits raised her hand. "Professor? Eleanora Ap Rhys, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us how many OWLs and NEWTs your wife earned. I went to look it up in the library, but there wasn't any information." The girl looked extremely disappointed that the library had let her down so terribly.  
  
"OWLs and NEWTs?" Three days and no one had asked a question that Harry hadn't anticipated and written down on one of his hidden scrolls. Now they were asking about Boggarts and Hermione's OWLs. "I, uh, can't say that I remember terribly well. She did well, I know... But you should ask her. She's coming up on Tuesday." Harry saw Snape's eyes snap up towards him. Damn. He wasn't supposed to say that. "Uh, but keep that a secret, no one's supposed to know." Inwardly, Harry flinched again. He knew that the best way to ensure that a piece of information was disseminated as broadly as possibly around Hogwarts was to tell the students that it was confidential.  
  
Ginny's gaze continued to be drawn towards the gothic ceiling of the Dark Arts classroom. Harry could see a small scorch mark left by one of the pixies that Professor Lockhart had loosed in the room all those years ago. Perhaps he should have done pixies today. Couldn't have been worse.  
  
"Any other, uh..."  
  
Circe raised her hand, and Harry would have gone to hug her too had Alan Singh not been sitting directly beside her, still looking nervous.  
  
"Miss Taylor?"  
  
"Yes, Professor. I was reading last night in one of the biographies of Professor Longbottom and the rest of you, and it mentioned that you had a scar on your head that you'd gotten when Tom Riddle killed your parents. I've noticed you, um, don't have any scar..."  
  
"Ah!" Harry cried, ecstatic to have gotten a question that would get his lesson plan started at last. "Excellent question! Five points to Gryffindor! For, uh, reading."  
  
Professor Snape's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.  
  
"Well, yes. So." Harry checked to see who was sitting in the appropriate seat. Right side, third from the front. Sidi. Oh, great. "Well, I'm not going to answer that. That is," he said, as the students' faces twisted in confusion, "Sidi... my daughter... Miss Potter is going to answer it."  
  
Sidi made a show of sighing and looking out the window, and then started to speak.  
  
"But, Miss Potter, I know you know the answer to that question, but I'd like you to present my answer." She stared at him dubiously, the unasked What the hell are you on about, now, Daddy? clear on her face. "Please look under your desk. You should find a scroll--got it? Good. Now, if you would, please read the scroll."  
  
Sidi opened the scroll, and her dubiousness shifted into frank incomprehension. She held up the parchment, as if to say, "What the hell is this?"  
  
"Out loud, Miss Potter, please," Harry said, trying to keep smiling.  
  
Siria shrugged, took the scroll in both hands and read. "Since time immemorial, students have been responding to professors' calls for questions by asking, 'What is the meaning of life?' And since time immemorial, professors have been telling their students not to be cheeky.  
  
"I, however, am going to answer that question for you...."  
  
"WAIT!" Harry said. He strode up the side row to Sidi and snatched the scroll from her hand. On the outside top right-hand corner, it was marked 2d--second row from the left, fourth seat. He reached under the seat of the boy immediately in front of Sidi. 1b.  
  
Slowly, he walked back to the front of the classroom and plucked a scroll out from behind a copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. It read 3a. They had all been rearranged. Who? Young Harry? Sidi? Snape? Harry looked around to find all of the students staring bemusedly at him. The headmaster had returned to his thumb. Ginny looked as if she were trying to chew a hole through the side of her mouth.  
  
"Well," said Harry shortly, "serves me right for trying to be clever. Someone's out-clevered me and rearranged all of the scrolls. So, first, let me answer Miss Taylor's question, and then I will try to tell you the point of this entire muck-up...."  
  
* * *  
  
The class had turned out well enough. Harry had managed to get his feet back beneath him and had salvaged a certain amount of his lesson plan, if not his dignity. As the students shuffled out, Siria looked as if the entire experience had been designed to humiliate her. She had walked out without sparing her father a sideways glance.  
  
"Very interesting lesson, professor," drawled Snape.  
  
"As I said, sir, it serves me right for trying to be clever." It was all Harry could do simply to meet the headmaster's black gaze.  
  
"Hmm," Snape sneered, and swooped out of the room.  
  
Harry could feel Ginny standing beside him, but didn't turn.  
  
"Harry, I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's all right," he said more calmly than he actually felt. "I didn't want to be a teacher anyway." She gave a dejected grunt. "What I want to know, Professor Longbottom, is why?"  
  
"Harry!" she said, and touched his shoulder. He still did not move. "It was a lark, I promise. Just a way to get you back a bit for, for Monday night, and maybe get us talking..."  
  
"Ah." Beneath all the beauty and gentleness, she was, after all, Fred and George's sister.  
  
"I didn't expect the lesson to begin so..."  
  
Silence. "So abominably. No, I suppose not. I was up late trying to make sure your nephew and goddaughter weren't killed down by the lake."  
  
"Oh." Ginny looked up at him.  
  
The anger and hurt in Harry's chest was bubbling, but it was already easing enough for him to be able to speak. "What I want to know is why Monday was _my_ fault?"  
  
Ginny sighed and pursed her lips. "I don't know. I'll think about it." She pierced him with a black gaze. "Why is it my fault that you overslept?"  
  
Harry gave a grunt. "I don't know. I'll think about it." He felt the steam leaking out from inside him, leaving only the disappointment.  
  
"I've got to get to my next class. They'll be transforming each other into ferrets and bouncing each other off the walls," Ginny muttered after a brief silence, and she left.  
  
Mutely, Harry put all of the scrolls back in place. He had two classes left to spring what was left of his great Lecture.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry had another training session with Circe Taylor that night; she was preparing for the Cup-deciding match with Hufflepuff that Saturday, and was hungry to help her team. Percy had made no appearance at all in his conversation with Hermione, Albie, and Minnie. Oddly, this left him even more deflated, which was somewhat of an accomplishment.  
  
The feeling of dry melancholy was alleviated somewhat by the Quidditch session. Harry let Circe use his Firebolt; she needed to feel what it was like to fly a real broom, and she exploded into the sky like a newly-fledged dragon. When they landed, he offered the broom to her. Not just to use for the match—to keep. Flabbergasted, Circe tried to demur, but Harry insisted. He didn't foresee ever having the need to ride it again. If he did, however, he said he was sure Circe would lend it back.  
  
At that, she had smiled, and cantered away, bearing her new broom back up to the castle like a trophy.  
  
Harry meandered back up to the school more slowly, thinking of Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think this was the hardest chapter to write, other than the epilogue. I felt so badly for poor Harry... sort of. :-)


	8. 7 - Lumos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is threatened and propositioned by the most unexpected of people, and a terrible thought won't leave his head.

The really horrible thought—the one he had been avoiding for days—finally struck Harry in the face the next morning.  
  
He woke early, not particularly rested but relieved not to have missed his first class. As he was about to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast before many of the rest of the faculty were there, he remembered that he hadn't told Minnie what Ginny had said to him about the animagus exercise she was working on. After lighting a fire—three tries—Harry knelt, tossed a handful of Floo Powder in, and called out "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"  
  
When the spinning stopped, Harry was staring up at his son zooming around in a kitchen chair, just below the rafters, waving what Harry desperately hoped wasn't a wand.  
  
"Albie! Get down now!" he found himself shouting. Blithely, the four-year-old banked the chair into a dive and brought it in for a landing in front of the fireplace. Harry's pulse was racing and his temples throbbing.  
  
"Hullo, Daddy," Albie said, smiling. "Actually, I'm not s'posed to fly."  
  
"Actually, sweetie, no, you're not. Because you don't want to fall and hurt yourself. And because you love your daddy and don't want him to have a heart attack here in the fireplace."  
  
Albie frowned, then decided Daddy was being funny, and started to giggle.  
  
"Albie, sweetie, where's... what's her name? The babysitter? And what's that in your hand?"  
  
"Ruler," Albie sang, waving it around. Then he pointed it at Harry. "Eat slugs!" Albie giggled madly.  
  
It was seeing Albie waving Percy's ruler, shaking the locks Harry knew to be reddish brown when not tinted by the green of the Floo, that made the terrible thought blossom in Harry's mind like an evil flower: what if Albie is Percy's son?  
  
But no, of course not. Ridiculous. Impossible.  
  
Behind Albie, the door to the kitchen opened and a disgruntled Minnie and a thoroughly harassed-looking Celestine Smith clumped in. "Hello, Mr. Potter," said the pink-haired young lady through clenched teeth. In her hand was a small stack of scrolls.  
  
"Something wrong, Celestine?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, no, the Minister called and asked me to bring her something from her office upstairs. Minerva here wants to stay in the house while Albie and I Floo this lot over to the Ministry. But I've been telling her that's not possible."  
  
Minnie rolled her eyes.  
  
"Come on, Minnie darling. You know you're too young to be in the house by yourself," Harry sighed. "There have been doxies and imps up in the sitting room again, and, believe me, you don't want to tackle them on your own."  
  
His daughter fixed him with a look of annoyance that might have been stolen from Sidi's tirade two nights before. "Fine."  
  
"Is there anything you need, Mr. Potter?" Celestine said breathlessly. "Because I've got to get these scrolls to the Minister, and then we need to get Minnie here off to school."  
  
Harry had a twinge of guilt. Usually it was he bustling the children inefficiently but, ultimately, effectively out the door, answering his wife's Floo calls, running all of the errands. "Just an answer to that question, Minnie. The question you asked the other night? About the animagus exercise? Aunt Ginny... Professor Longbottom said you shouldn't try to decide the animal, you should just let it come to you."  
  
Minnie's face fell. "But, Dad... The pictures I'm getting... They're scary."  
  
"It's okay, Minnie. You'll be sweet no matter how long your fangs."  
  
"Mr. Potter?" Celestine urged. At least she didn't call him Mr. Granger, as most younger employees of the Ministry did.  
  
"Of course, Miss Smith. Thank you. Bye, Minnie. Bye Albie."  
  
As Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace, he found the image of Albie's face still there, and that terrible idea, bubbling away inside his brain, in spite of it's absurdity, in spite of fact that he loved and trusted his wife, in spite of the fact that none of the Grangers or Weasleys had green or hazel eyes to explain where Albie's grey-green might have come from.  
  
Harry stumbled into the Great Hall and sat next Ron, who was looking barely awake, and was moving his eggs around his plate dispiritedly.  
  
"Rough night?" Harry asked.  
  
Ron shrugged. "Luna couldn't sleep. Woke me up to tell her stories." He gave a huge yawn. "Bloody unfair. We're going to be up all the time for a few months once the baby is born. Seems like she should be able to sleep _now_ at least."  
  
"Yeah. Unfair." Harry refrained from telling Ron that the sleeplessness could last a lot longer than a few months. That the term was something closer to eighteen years to life. It seemed as if it would have been cruel to reveal at this late date just what a horrible mess his friend had gotten himself into. He piled some scrambled eggs onto his own plate, and was about to ask Ron if he thought it even possible that Hermione and Percy might feel anything for each other besides hatred when Ginny glided onto the dais and seated herself, not two seats away, as she had been doing, but immediately next to Harry.  
  
She said "Good morning." Her tone was so neutral and so blandly pleasant--so unlike Ginny--that Harry knew she was as uncomfortable as he was. And in spite of himself, he began to laugh.  
  
Ginny and Ron both looked at him in alarm. Harry gestured to them both to lean in, and whispered, "I've just been having this really ridiculous guilt fantasy that Percy and Hermione were having a fling while I was here."  
  
Ginny's eyes opened wide in recognition--yes, she was struggling with the same guilt that Harry was. But Ron simply began to laugh. And soon Ginny and Harry joined him.  
  
"That's.... _whooo_! That's the silliest thing I've heard in years!" Ron guffawed.  
  
Luna, who had just sat beside her husband, grunted as she tried to fit her distended abdomen behind the table without the rear legs of her chair falling off the dais. "What are you laughing about?"  
  
"Oh!" Ron said, wiping his eyes. "Harry's just been saying something very funny about his wife and Percy being sweet on each other..." He began to chuckle again.  
  
Luna caught Harry's eye and smiled; Harry felt lighter than he had in days, relieved finally to have realized how his own guilt over his behavior with Ginny had been clouding his mind. "Well," Luna said, "I've always thought your brother was enamored of Hermione. Of course he is. And he's a very handsome man. Not as handsome as you, of course," she murmured to Ron, whose face had fallen. "What, you didn't believe all of that bickering between them, did you? Of course it's just for show..." And Luna turned blithely to her tofu.  
  
Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He glanced to Ron, whose teeth seemed to have become stuck on his mouthful of egg, and then at Ginny, who was looking even more uncomfortable. At least she was no longer even trying to maintain the bland expression.  
  
He ate three bites of egg and pushed the plate away.  
  
At the Gryffindor table, Harry Weasley was still hiding among the first-years, who were charming wads of paper to fly around his head like birds in those old cartoons, when someone's been knocked silly. Sidi was sitting next to Circe Taylor, who was speaking animatedly in her ear. Sidi's glum expression mirrored her father's mood.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
At the morning break, a mop of red hair flared through the classroom doorway, and Harry's breath caught--Ginny? Young Harry? Ron?  
  
But it was Alithea Weasley, her strawberry locks framing a face set in grim annoyance. It was an expression he was getting quite used to facing.  
  
"What can I do for you, Alithea?" Harry sighed.  
  
"I hear you've been training that little prat Taylor," Alithea spat, and Harry was forcibly reminded that Veelas bore quite a different face when they were angry.  
  
"Uh, yes," he answered, as calmly as he could manage. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"Yeah, well, _I'm_ the Hufflepuff seeker," Alithea fumed. "I'm the only flyer left from last year's starting side, and the only chance we had of holding on to the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup this year is if I grab the Snitch before the Gryffindors run the score up too bloody high. So you helping her... It's favoritism, that's what it is."  
  
"What?" Harry stammered. "I assure you..."  
  
"I know how it works. All you Gryffindors watch out for your own, I know. Merlin's beard, even our bloody House Head and his bloody wife are bloody Gryffs..." Her face, usually so stunningly pale, was red and blotchy.  
  
"Look, Alithea, I promise it isn't that. I promise. Your uncle coaches you _all_ , doesn't he? He just felt she needed some one-on-one work with a broken-down old seeker because her confidence is so low." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Look, you're much taller than she is, and much more, uh, sturdily built. You've got four years of experience on her. Two evenings' work with me isn't going to overcome all that." Her lips were pursed, but she was listening. "Would you like me to work with you tonight? Do you have practice?"  
  
"Yeah, but it's just supposed to be a short one." She was eying him skeptically.  
  
"How about I work with you while the rest of the team is going through formations." As her face faded to its normal alabaster glow, Harry felt his own blood pressure decrease. "I can run you through most of the drills Miss Taylor and I worked on, okay?"  
  
After a moment's consideration, Alithea uncrossed her arms and said, "Okay."  
  
"You know," Harry said, as she began to sidle back out of the door, and his class of first-year Ravenclaws began to shuffle in, "I forgot you were a Hufflepuff..."  
  
"Yeah," Alithea sighed, "everyone always does."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
At lunch, Harry was still trying desperately to shove the image of Albie waving the ruler out of his mind. Neville sat next to him before Ginny had even gotten into the hall, his usually open face seemed preoccupied, at the very least. "Something up, Neville?" Harry asked, dreading the answer. Had Ginny spoken to him? Had Neville finally noticed that she and Harry had been avoiding one another?  
  
"What?" Neville asked. "Oh, no, no. Just, well, wondering if I could tempt you to join me for a walk around the lake this afternoon. I need to check whether the Gillyweed I've been trying to cultivate on the north shore has survived the snowmelt, and I'd love the company."  
  
"Of course," Harry said, "I'd love to." In his mind, however, Harry wondered what it was that Neville wanted to get him away from the castle to discuss. And Harry knew that, if it came to wands, Neville would be able to hex him nine ways to Sunday before Harry could even manage a flurry of sparks.  
  
At that moment, Ginny came in from the entrance hall, listening politely to a very animated Professor Mundy, who was telling a rather giggly story that seemed to hinge on the meaning of the verb, 'to hoover.' Neville sprang up, moved out of the chair beside Harry, and, with that full-faced smile that seemed to light the whole hall, gestured for his wife to sit. Which, with a look of some trepidation, she did.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
By the time Harry had finished his final double session with the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw second-years, Harry was so thoroughly exhausted that he collapsed on the stairs and stared at the arched ceiling for a good fifteen minutes before soft, steady footsteps stopped just inside the classroom door.  
  
"Hullo, Neville," Harry said, not shifting his gaze from the ceiling.  
  
"Hullo, Harry. Ready for a walk?"  
  
"Sure, Neville," Harry moaned. "As soon as I can find my legs again. How the hell do you lot do this, week in and week out?"  
  
Neville smiled coyly. "With great difficulty." He offered Harry a hand. "Come on. Let's go."  
  
As Harry followed out of the entry hall onto the lawn that led down to the lake, he realized just how warm it was. Before he had passed the huge old beech under which a dozen students were pretending to study, as had Harry and his friends and their parents before them, he could feel beads of sweat on his brow. "Mind if I take off my robes, Neville?" he asked.  
  
"No, no, excellent idea," Neville said, striding towards the beech, pulling off the heavy black robes. "It's hot and we're going to be getting wet anyway." As they strode up to the tree, Harry saw that it was a group of Hufflepuff third and fourth years. "Miss Harris," Neville called out to one of the girls, "would you mind watching our robes for..." At the back of the crowd, there was a rustling, as the students attempted to hide something.  
  
Seeing that these were students from the Longbottoms' own House, Harry chose to let Neville decide whether or not to call the students on whatever they were up to. But the field of innocent faces that gazed up at the two professors was almost enough to make Harry burst out laughing.  
  
Neville sighed. "What have you got there, Miss Goldstein?"  
  
A plain-faced girl gulped, looked around, and then reached behind her. The other students shrank back as she lifted up what was, quite clearly, the head of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"What the hell is that?" Harry spat out.  
  
"Oh, one of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. They're the latest rage--a fully lifelike mask of one of a number of famous wizards," Neville tisked, taking the mask from a mute Felicity Goldstein. "Though I must say the one of me is less than flattering."  
  
The students tittered.  
  
"Are they contraband?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, yes, well, unfortunately, poor Madam Crotchett, the caretaker, ran into three Severus Snapes the day after your godson began selling them, each of whom ordered her to open another restricted area of the castle to students from a different house. By the time the real headmaster arrived, she yanked on his nose to make sure it was, in fact, him."  
  
At this, the students laughed out loud.  
  
"I can see that Professor Snape would see fit to ban these, under those circumstance," Harry said, trying not to laugh himself at the image of Madam Crotchett, who was built like a Quidditch Beater, twisting Snape's long nose.  
  
"Yes," Neville said, blandly, tucking the remarkably lifelike mask into his belt, from where it gazed, blue-eyed. "Now, Miss Goldstein, by way of penance, I expect you and your friends to watch Professor Potter's robes, and mine, until we return in about an hour. Understood?"  
  
Felicity Goldstein nodded, and took Harry and Neville's robes.  
  
"Ought you to have docked points, or something?" Harry asked as they walked along the glittering lake.  
  
"Oh, I suppose," Neville sighed. "If it had been someone at the school--someone alive--I would have done, I think. But having someone walking around in the guise of old Albus would have done no more harm than to render a few of the faculty a tad misty-eyed."  
  
They walked around the edge of lake in silence, and for a time, Harry was completely transported by the beauty of the lake and of the mountain, and of the sight of the castle rising behind them.  
  
Then Neville cleared his throat, and Harry was pulled back into the anxious present. "I've been thinking about you a lot, lately, Harry."  
  
"Oh?" Harry asked, as casually as he could manage.  
  
"Yes, I've been thinking about how unfair it is, just because I'm the one who happened to cast the spell that destroyed the construct that had called itself Voldemort, that everyone makes such a fuss over me, when you gave up so much to make that happen. You were the only reason I had the ability or the opportunity to cast that spell, we both know that. And yet I'm the one who gets all the credit..." Neville looked shyly back over his shoulder, as if searching for a reaction.  
  
"You know I don't care about that, Neville," Harry answered. "You deserve the praise, and you're more than welcome to the fame. I spent seven years with people making a fuss over _me_ because I was the bloody Boy Who Lived. Because my parents had died, and that was so tragic." He snorted. "But you had lost your parents too, even if they were still alive, and no one made any fuss about that."  
  
"Not that I gave them the chance," said Neville. "But for you not to be resentful at all, it's really quite remarkable, Harry."  
  
"I've got as wonderful a life as a wizard could ask for. An amazing wife, a loving family..." Harry bit his mouth shut. That was a road that Harry had meant not to tread.  
  
"Yeees," Neville mused, "when it comes to that, I must say I've always rather envied _you_ , Harry. Ginny and I..." Neville stopped and looked out toward the castle, his ears pinkening slightly. Oh, damn, thought Harry. Here it comes. "Have you ever wondered why Ginny and I don't have any children?"  
  
At that moment, Harry would rather have been fifteen years old again, and facing a furious Severus Snape in his dungeon, than answering his sweet-faced old friend's question. "Uh, well," he stuttered, "I'd always assumed it was, you know, a choice..." This wasn't a lie. He _had_ assumed that. This was the answer he had given to Ginny when she had asked the same question of him the previous autumn. Of course, he now knew that choice had nothing to do with it at all.  
  
Neville looked over to Harry, and then looked back out to the lake. The squid trailed a tentacle in a lazy circle around a seagull far out in the middle. "Harry. I... can't have children. I'm impotent, but I'm also infertile. It's because of when my great-uncle dropped me out the window, you remember? I wasn't badly hurt, except in that one way, and everyone was so excited that I'd done something magical at last. Didn't even know there was anything wrong until, you know, much later."  
  
Harry stared at his friend mutely.  
  
"Ginny, she knew, when we first..." Neville stopped again. Harry nodded. His stomach was tying itself in knots. "The thing is, Harry, since last fall, Ginny's been moody." Neville gave a sad chuckle. "I mean, even for her. Ever since that night when we had dinner at your place. And I knew what had to be bothering her. It's what's been bothering her for so long, though she's been a good enough wife never to mention it...  
  
"With you and Hermione so far away, it had never been a problem. Out of sight, out of..." Neville's voice was thickening and Harry felt the guilt and horror chewing at him, driving desperately to want to throw himself at his friend's feet. "But then when Ron and Luna..."  
  
"Ron and Luna?" Harry coughed.  
  
"Yes, no, no, it was Luna telling us all she was pregnant at that dinner. She and Ginny have always been so close. And as I said, we never really watched Hermione be pregnant, the babies just sort of, well, _happened_. But we've watched Luna growing from day to day, listened to her go on in her own peculiar fashion about the baby kicking or rolling over, or morning sickness, and I've watched it eat Ginny up. I love her so much, you see..."  
  
Now Neville began to weep in earnest, tears dribbling down onto his beard. "I love her so much. And that's why... That's why I'm going to ask you something, Harry, I swore I would never ask."  
  
"Merlin, Neville," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper, "ask."  
  
Neville gave Harry a damp smile. "She was always... fond of you, you see. And I've always thought of you as all but a brother..."  
  
The realization of just what Neville was about to ask broke upon Harry with such force that he couldn't manage to form the words: _Stop, Neville, don't._  
  
"I'd like you to help Ginny get pregnant, Harry." Neville was staring out at the lake again. "It's an absurd thing to ask, I know. I know you never exactly... fancied Ginny, which I consider to be your one bit of poor judgment."  
  
"Neville, I..." spluttered Harry.  
  
But Neville gave a weak smile and waved him back into silence. "Believe me, I am very capable of appreciating what you saw in Hermione. I was quite in love with her myself for a while. But I would like you to consider helping Ginny and myself. It would be a greater kindness than I can possibly tell you."  
  
They stood in silence for few long seconds. Up on the mountainside, a raven croaked. "I... don't know what to say, Neville. Have you spoken with Ginny about this?"  
  
Neville's brows contracted. "No, no, I haven't. I thought I should raise the issue with you first. I'm fairly certain this is why she's been acting so coldly towards you, you see. I think she's been thinking the same thing. I don't want to dash her feelings..."  
  
"You really should..."  
  
"Think it over, Harry, please. If it's something you feel at all comfortable with, please talk it over with Hermione. But consider my proposal seriously, I beg of you." Neville dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, and began to walk again. "You know," he said, "all other considerations aside, if you were a plant, I would consider you extremely good breeding stock. Your children are quite delightful."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
To be given permission to do the one thing he most wanted to do... But Ginny would never agree. Nor would Hermione. Though it would serve her right...  
  
What if Albie were Percy's son? And Minnie? She always looked so much like Hermione, who could tell... No.  
  
And no. It was wrong. He had chosen not to sleep with Ginny twice when the opportunity had presented itself. It felt like the worst kind of lie to take advantage of Neville when he had totally misread the situation.  
  
"So," Neville said, the brightness back in his voice as they came to a spot on the lake marked with poles, "I was talking to someone else about you. Do you remember Gabrielle Delacour? Bill's sister-in-law?"  
  
Harry must have nodded, though he was unaware of doing so.  
  
"Well, she's the one I've been working with on this Gillyweed project. She's the assistant professor of Herbology at Beauxbatons."  
  
" _Assistant_ professor?" Harry muttered.  
  
"Yes, they take their Herbology very seriously at Beauxbatons." Neville had rolled his trousers up and was wading knee-deep into the lake, poking at the fronds of Gillyweed there with his toes, talking to them. "Oh, you're doing very nicely. Very nicely. I was worried about you in the cold, and the fresh water... But the Salinas charm, yes..."  
  
It was calming to watch Neville in his element, stroking the plants as though they were some particularly slimy family pet.  
  
"Anyway," Neville continued, as he stepped out of the water, his feet muddy and his hands dripping, "I told her you would be coming up and she wrote me this lovely, very gushy letter about what a wonderful person you are, and how meeting you has affected her whole life, and how the Minister was a very lucky woman to have a husband such as you. It was quite marvelous. I should have shown it to you, I'm sorry."  
  
"That's all right, Neville," Harry said. "I don't think I could have read it just now anyway." And for reasons too subtle for Harry to discern, the image of Albie flying in the kitchen chair flared up once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: See, now, I felt no pity at ALL for Harry here. Hee.
> 
> No, by the way, this wasn't the same Felicity Goldstein to be found in my Locked Room stories... It's her AU niece. :-)


	9. 8 - Pensieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Ginny consider things in a different light, and Sidi walks in on something....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Middle-aged snogging redux. Ewww!

By the time they got back to the beech tree and picked up their robes from the mute Felicity Goldstein, Harry's head was so full of warring thoughts that he felt he couldn't get a handle on any one of them. I want to take my brain out, he thought. I want to take my brain out and rinse it in nice, warm, sudsy water....

Having delivered his bombshell of a proposal, Neville was back to his jovial, unworried self. He told Harry he had to wash up and update his notes on the Gillyweed project, that they would meet at dinner, and then he strode off towards the greenhouses, whistling off-key.

As Harry stumbled back into the cool, dark entry hall, he was greeted by the pale, moon-shaped face of Professor Armstrong. "Hello, Professor!" he called, waving.

"Professor."

"I didn't call the other night, because--to my surprise--both your daughter and young Mr. Weasley were actually in their beds. Something must be up. Those two have never been so quiet for this long." The Gryffindor Head of House gave a broad smile.

"I don't think it's anything too troubling, Professor," Harry said. "I was just panicking a bit. Thank you again for checking."

"Any time, Professor. Perhaps your daughter is finally exerting a positive influence on young Harry, eh?"

"We can certainly hope so. See you at dinner." The image of the Weasley boy, weeping, flooded back into Harry's brain, shoving a half-dozen other equally disturbing images to the side.

As he stepped into the Defense classroom, in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt, Harry realized he had a visitor.

Ginny was sitting on the stairs, her elbows propped on her knees. Like Harry, she had shed her robes, which lay in a dark clump beside her.

On the teacher desk in front of her rested a large stone bowl whose contents glowed silver.

"I borrowed it from Severus," she sighed. "You asked me why Monday night was your fault and I realized I really had no clear memory of what exactly happened--just how I felt."

"Uh," Harry said, because he wanted desperately to tell her about her conversation with her husband, but couldn't.

"Come here," Ginny said, standing and walking over to the Pensieve. "I want to know if you see what I see."

"Uh."

"Please, Harry."

"Okay, Ginny, of course." Looking into the Pensieve, he could see himself and Ginny seated on Remus's forlorn old couch.

"Go in for a closer look, Harry. Come on." She touched his shoulder.

Hesitantly, Harry drew out his wand and touched it to the silvery pool of memories.

Instantly he was sucked off of his feet, and found himself dropping into Remus's living room. There he was, looking thoroughly miserable, staring at Ginny, who was standing beside the couch, as though she were a particularly delectable desert. "What an idiot," he muttered.

"Don't be hard on yourself," Ginny--the real Ginny--said beside him. "That look has made me weak-kneed more than once."

Harry could only grunt.

His memory-self gave a forced laugh. "He's like a bloody sex detector. He tends to wake up with that dream whenever Hermione and I... You know."

"God, I hate my laugh," Harry muttered.

Ginny shushed him, while her memory-self laughed, "Oh! Well, he's clearly picking up on something." Her eyes sparkled.

"Clearly," memory-Harry said, his eyes too flashing.

"Guess you do feel the same way I do. Kind of a relief, actually." The two memories laughed; memory-Ginny shook her head in a way that made her hair flow quite remarkably over her shoulders. Even watching it the second time made Harry shiver.

"On that note, I think I'd better..." And then the two of them, memory-Harry and memory-Ginny, froze for a moment. Harry thought briefly that the memory had ended, that the image was actually stopped. But no, he could see the pulse at the base of Ginny's throat. And like two magnets, the two memories moved together until there was no space at all between them.

Harry gave a wordless grunt at the sight.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said beside him. "Hmm."

"Oh," Harry muttered, "that's when I tore your buttons. Sorry about that."

Now it was Ginny's turn to grunt.

In Harry's memory, the whole incident had lasted two heartbeats. As he watched his simulacrum and Ginny's writhe against each other, on and on, he muttered, "You'd think a memory like this would seem as if it lasted longer than it actually did, you know?"

Ginny grunted again.

On the couch, Harry could see himself pulling--not against Ginny's grasp, but against his own desire.

"I think," Ginny said, "we can stop there. I don't want to watch the rest, do you?"

"No," Harry said, and felt himself falling upwards, out of the Pensieve and back onto his feet again. He was panting; his shirt stuck to him.

"Now you know why I took off my robes," said Ginny, a blush only slightly belying her wicked grin. "So, did you see it?"

"See what?" Harry sighed. "I couldn't tell which of us started it all..."

"That's just what I mean," Ginny said intensely. "I've watched that... scene four times, from different angles, and I can tell you neither one of us initiated that kiss, or whatever you want to call it."

Harry pondered her mutely.

"Harry, you're the one who's always talking about the enchantment that can be done without a wand or an incantation. We did that together, Harry, for better or for worse."

Harry snorted. "For better or for worse..."

Her dark gaze pinned him. "I spent the last six months thinking about what it would have been like if Albie hadn't interrupted us. For better or for worse. Tell me you haven't been thinking the same."

Harry looked down at the Pensieve. The scene had started again; Ginny was burning her poems. "Of course I was thinking the same." And beating myself up about it all the while.

"Harry. I'm not blaming you. Merlin, you should see your face." He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Look, Harry, I guess I'm trying to say I'm sorry. I mean, I was angry as all hell that night, and you'll have to forgive me, there's not a damned thing I could have done about that." She looked down to herself in the Pensieve, drinking whiskey. "But watching this today I've realized you were trying to do the right thing, even if I did want to throttle you at the time."

"I didn't feel like I was doing the right thing. I felt as if I was being a bloody git."

She looked at him mutely. He could feel the proximity of her, and hated the fact that, between the conversation with Neville and watching himself snogging on the couch with Ginny, he could feel the thread pulling between them again. He tried desperately to think of a way to discuss Neville's proposal with her without sounding like the randy bastard he in fact was. Looking down from her black eyes back to the Pensieve, he saw himself, pressed against Ginny, her leg wrapped over his back, and he started to sweat again. "You watched this four times?"

"Yeah," she smirked.

Harry reached across and took her hand. "Listen, Ginny, I..." He could feel the calluses on her long wand fingers. "There's something I want to show you. In the Pensieve..."

There was a shuffle at the doorway. Sidi was standing there, her face long and white. "Daddy..."

"Siria Potter!" Harry screamed, more in shock than anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing, sneaking in here like that?" He could feel the adrenaline pumping blood out of his stomach, into his face.

Sidi looked up, even more stricken. Her lower lip quavered, and she ran.

Turning back to Ginny, Harry was confronted with those depthless black eyes. She squeezed his hand lightly and let go. "Go after her, you poor prat."

He felt the urge to finish the conversation, the urge to explain, the urge to ask for forgiveness and advice. He took a breath, however, nodded, and ran out the door.

Sidi hadn't gotten far. She was crumpled at the feet of Uric the Oddball, weeping into her robes.

Harry sat next her. After a moment, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Sid, I'm sorry."

She glared over at him, wet and venomous. "So are you and Ginny Doing It?"

Harry started. "No!" he barked. Which was true, so far as it went. "Siria, sweetie, Aunt Ginny and I have a lot of past together but, no, we're not, you know, sleeping together. We never have. And that's not what I was talking with her about. Nor is it what I was apologizing for."

Sidi wiped her nose on her knee. "What then?"

"The apology? For snapping at you like that. That was totally out of line. You just interrupted a really personal conversation, and I was surprised and embarrassed, and I lost my head. I'm sorry."

She looked at him, dubious. "And what were you talking about? You were holding her hand."

He was about to protest that the conversation was private, but he recognized in the hard set of Sidi's jaw that he could not avoid the issue entirely. "Neville asked me to do him a favor, sweetie. Something very personal. And I was about to ask Ginny for her advice, since it's something that affects her. And that's all I can tell you."

"Did you fancy Auntie Gin?" The green eyes were soft, now, and tentative. "When you were younger?"

"Yeah," he conceded. "Yeah, I did. Can you blame me? And, as it happens, she fancied me."

"You're joking!" Her eyes flew wide, the red rims stretched around stark whites.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry laughed. "You should ask her some time! What do you think she was writing about in that possessed journal the year she got dragged down into the bowels of the castle by that basilisk?" Ginny, waxen and cold. Red hair on white flesh. Child-thin throat.

"Wow." The tears had stopped, but her face was still blotchy and swollen.

"Tell me about it," Harry joked humorlessly. Silly little girl. Oh, Ginny.

"Was she..." Sidi began. "Was Ginny one of the people you wished you'd talked to? Like you said?"

Harry gave a small nod.

"Do you think?..." Sidi was contemplating all of this with a mixture of wonder and horror playing across her face.

"What-if and Might-have-been are fools' games, Sid. We made our choices, your mum and I. And we've been blessed in them. The past is the past." He dried her cheek with his thumb. "And I can say that--I've traveled back to the past. It's overrated." Listening to Tom Riddle, Sr. preparing his stage magic show one night. Showing Ron and Harry card tricks. Talking about his wonderful new assistant--Luna's great-aunt, who would one day be his wife and the mother of the child who would kill him. The crushing sadness of sitting there, trading jokes with that man, knowing what horrors his future would bring.

Sidi rested her head on Harry's shoulder. He still felt like an utter berk, but this, at least, was better. "So what was it?" he asked. "Why did you come to see me?"

"Oh." She'd clearly forgotten. "It's Harry. He still won't talk to me. And I'm... worried about him. I think he's up to something, and, well, I'm usually the one who keeps him from doing anything too dangerous..."

"He's got other friends, doesn't he? Do they know what he's up to? One of his cousins?" Harry thought of Ron with Fred and George, Seamus and Dean, during those long months when they weren't talking to each other. Walking with Hermione around the lake.

Albie.

Sidi shook her head against Harry's shoulder. "He hasn't been talking with anyone. He's been sitting with a bunch of first-years, who sort of idolize him for some of the silly pranks he's pulled. But I don't think he's talking even with them."

"Well," Harry said, "he came down here, the night before last. The night before that disaster of a lecture. I think he wanted to talk to me, but all he said was something about a squid."

She started and blushed.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

She shook her head.

"Hmmm." He could force her to talk to him. But after the beginning of the conversation, he couldn't bring himself to do that.

"Daddy?" Sidi whispered.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm sorry I was so mean during that class. I felt so bad..."

"It's okay, sweetie. No one's fault but my own."

"Did you ever figure out who, uh, mixed all the scrolls up?" She peered up from under her brows.

"Yes," he answered. She nibbled on a lip. "And it wasn't young Harry, don't worry."

"Oh, good," she said, clearly relieved. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, sprang up from the floor with all the energy and flexibility of youth.

Much more stiffly and slowly, Harry rose and shuffled back into the classroom. Ginny wasn't there, but the Pensieve was still on the desk. Next to it was a note.

Harry--

Thought you two might want some privacy. Floo'd back over to mine and Neville's. You said you wanted to show me something. I'll come over this evening.

No firewhisky this time, right?

Ginny

* * *

At dinner, Neville made a big show of seating Ginny next to Harry, which made Harry's stomach lurch in a confused tangle of embarrassment, annoyance, and desire.

Afterwards, when he went to check in with his family via the Floo, he found the Pensieve still sitting there on his desk. He didn't look into it--he didn't need to. As he knelt at the fireplace, all he could see in his mind's eye was his own lips on hers, his chest to her chest, their hands roaming.

When he tossed the Floo powder into the fire, some of it stuck to his sweat-dampened palm.

No one was home.

As he walked down to the Quidditch pitch, Harry felt as if he were walking crossways to a strong current. Images of himself with Ginny alternated oddly with images of Hermione rolling with Percy across the huge bed upstairs at Grimmauld Place. He felt like a hormonal sixteen-year-old again, and it was not a welcome feeling.

Walking into the stadium, Harry barely noticed the Hufflepuff team, most of them already aloft. He barely noticed Alithea Weasley standing just inside the entry arch.

When he did notice her, however, her bright, dusklit beauty sucked him in so forcefully that it was only through a concentrated act of will and a last-second grab of her broomstick that he held himself back from kissing her.

Damn.

The strawberry blonde gazed at him for a moment, sad amusement on her lips. "Shall we fly, then?"

Once his feet had left the ground, Harry felt his head clear. It was a change for which he was grateful.

Alithea had nowhere near the natural gift for flying that Circe Taylor did. But she made up for this with a kind of ferocity that impressed Harry. As they went through the drills, she showed none of the tentativeness that held back Circe. She nearly knocked him off of his broom several times. With a laugh, Harry shifted her towards drills to develop her finesse: balance on the broom, spotting feints, keeping turns tight so that the opposing Seeker couldn't anticipate her move.

The rest of the Hufflepuffs had already wandered off to the changing rooms before Harry and Alithea touched down. She was grinning again, but there was no hint of sadness to it now.

"Where did you learn to play for blood like that?" Harry asked.

"Well, I come from a family of Quidditch players, don't I? Dad had me up on a broom not long after I could walk. Also," she stared up at the bulging white lens of the moon rising over the castle, "when I got to Hogwarts, I needed to find something that I could be good at that wasn't sort of undermined just by who I was, you know?"

"I'm not sure I do," admitted Harry.

The sweaty young woman sighed. "It's... boring having people react to you, not because of what you do, but because of what you are."

"Ah," Harry said.

"I work really hard in all of my classes here, but it wouldn't make a difference if I didn't. I'd still get top marks. The teachers are all bloody desperate to please me, you see--the male ones. And Grubbly-Plank. My first Charms exam? Professor Flitwick gave me three hundred percent. I hadn't even finished the last couple of questions."

"Well," Harry said, "some students would love to be in your shoes."

Alithea snorted in a most unladylike manner. "You were going to kiss me when you first came in, right?"

Mutely, Harry nodded.

"It would have been all right if you had. People do it all the time. Teachers. Students. Male. Female. It has nothing to do with me, see?" She sighed. "Took me a long time to realize that--when it first started happening it scared the bloody hell out of me. My second day here, I'm barely eleven, and Tertius Plinth, the Head Boy, walks right over from the Ravenclaw table and plants a huge, wet kiss on me as I'm trying to eat breakfast. I didn't want to show my face for days." She snorted again. "For that matter, neither did he. His girlfriend nearly skinned him. Thing is, Quidditch is the one thing I do where being part-Veela has nothing to do with it. If I fly hard and catch the Snitch, I help my team. If I don't..."

"I understand," Harry said. "You're very wise not to take it personally, people's reaction to you. I used to have people adoring me and hating me, and it all had to do with things I didn't have control over. It took me a long time to learn not to feel like I'd actually done something to make them feel the way they did."

They were standing at the doors to the changing rooms. "Tante Gabi talks about you all the time." This time, Alithea's smile was shy. "Did you really save her life?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not really. I thought I was at the time, but she was just fine--and she knew it. I think she was just touched by the idea of this older boy playing the chivalrous idiot over her."

"Hmmm," Alithea said. "Well, good night."

"Good night," Harry sighed. "Good luck at the match tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

Harry came back to his rooms and decided try to Floo home again. Hermione was seated at the kitchen table, her reading glasses in her hand, looking over some scrolls. "Hullo, Harry." She chewed on the arm of her glasses.

"Darling," Harry said. "I called earlier, but everyone was out."

"Yes," Hermione said vaguely. "I had to head back to the office right after dinner. Celestine took the kids to the Muggle cinema around the corner."

"Oh," Harry said. It was an old ritual on the many Friday nights when Hermione had to work late. "Hope Albie doesn't wake up with nightmares." That too was part of the tradition.

"Hmmm," Hermione replied. "Harry... How is everyone there?"

"What?" Harry asked. "Fine. Everyone's fine. And there? Everything's okay?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well," Harry said, "I have to do some work too. Ginny's helping me with a project."

"I see." She shook her head. "Can I ask you something? Has she talked to you at all about Luna?"

This caught Harry off-guard. "Luna? You mean, her being pregnant? No. But Neville thinks..." Now Harry shook his head.

"Hmm."

"You're still coming up on Tuesday, aren't you?"

"Yes." She pursed her lips. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

She gazed at him for a moment through the flames. "I love you."

"I love you, too, luv."

When Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace, it didn't stop spinning, even when it had cleared the flames. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that Hermione wasn't telling him something.

He stumbled downstairs, cradled the Pensieve in his arms and walked it up to Remus's living room. Dumbledore had said that the device was perfect for sorting out thoughts when your head got too crowded. Well, Harry sorely needed that at the moment. With some difficulty, he plucked out a series of memories--Albie flying, Percy at the table, Hermione snapping at him about, well, Percy.

Further back. Discussing Harry coming to Hogwarts. Last fall, the dinner party, where Luna told them all that she was pregnant. And Ginny...

Lying in bed, weeping in Hermione's arms, telling her he had always loved her, would always love her.

Albie's birth.

The day Hermione took over the office of Minister for Magic. All of them standing there--the two girls, so young, all of the Weasleys and their various spouses, come to pay their respects. People from the DA, from the Order, from Hogwarts. And everyone beaming. Everyone except Snape. And Percy.

Visiting Hermione's office, back when she was an Unspeakable, and walking in to find her yelling at Percy, both of them red-faced.

Minnie's birth, and Sidi's. Lord, how could he ever have forgotten the smell? Hermione's body, with which she had such a complicated relationship, doing something so remarkable and terrifying. And the miracle of watching this little purple puppet, this wet Mandrake, take a breath and turn pink. Like magic.

That Christmas party, telling everyone Hermione was pregnant. Ginny hiding behind Neville's arm.

As he was sorting through the last memory--the wedding--Harry felt the actual Ginny's presence, watching the exchange of vows at his side. "Do you mind if I watch?" she asked. "I don't want to intrude."

"Don't worry about it," Harry croaked, and pointed up to the wedding party, to where Ginny was standing in a lavender dress at Hermione's side. "You were here, you know."

"Yeah," Ginny sighed. "I know." They watched in silence; Harry heard himself speak the lines from the Book of Ruth far too loudly, making all of the guests laugh, and watched as Hermione, radiantly tearful, repeated the lines so quietly she could barely be heard over the rustle of her dress and the gentle breeze blowing through the arbor in the Burrow's back yard that had served as their chapel.

He noticed both Ginnies, then and now, chewing on their lips, and sighed.

"So," whispered Ginny, as Hermione placed the ring on memory-Harry's finger, "what are you looking for?"

Harry groaned and shook his head. "I'm looking... I'm looking for the lie. For what I missed that somehow led away from... that." He watched as Hermione and his own memory kissed, to joyous applause.

Ginny stared at him, hard. "Do you really think Percy and Hermione?..."

Harry shrugged. "Why not? Look at us, at you and me. Could easily have happened, don't you think?"

Ginny scowled as the newlyweds skipped gleefully back up the aisle, followed by the maid-of-honor (Ginny herself) and the best man (Ron). "Okay. Fine. Look at us. We haven't done anything, have we? I mean, think about it, Harry, we're lovely people, you and me, but who would you trust to have a more tenacious grasp on the straight-and-narrow, you and me, or Hermione and my stick-in-the-mud brother?"

"Yeah," Harry said, although he was not sure that this argument reassured him terribly. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Neville trouped by, with Hermione's sister Lydia, the last of the wedding party, followed by the Drs. Granger. "Lord," Harry sighed. "Hermione's dad. He's not much older than I am now. I'd forgotten he ever looked that... healthy."

"Yeah, well, I'd forgotten any of us ever looked so alive." Ginny was watching the still-barefaced Neville, who was seeking her younger self out in the crowd that was knotted around the married couple.

Harry collapsed into a chair that had just been vacated by a limping Mrs. Figg.

"Harry," Ginny said, "you still love Hermione, don't you?"

The stew of undifferentiated emotion that was simmering away in Harry's gut spewed forth as spite. "Of course I do. What kind of a question is that? Would I be such a mess if I didn't?"

"Look," Ginny growled, "this is getting boring. You can beat yourself up about something that didn't happen. I'll leave you to it." And with a ripple, she disappeared from the memory.

Oh, damn, Harry thought, and left the Pensieve himself. Ginny was putting on her robes and getting ready to leave--not as furious as she had been the other night, but distinctly unchuffed, as Ron had put it.

"Look, Ginny..."

"Forget it, Harry. Forget it." She began to leave, then turned back. "It was just a bloody kiss, all right? I mean, it was nice, wallowing in all that teenage randiness, but bloody hell, Harry, it was just a kiss..." With a deep intake of breath, she uncrossed her arms. "I'm sorry. I just feel like you're making a bloody epic poem out of the whole thing. Why can't we just enjoy each other's company and leave it at that?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "the whole guilt thing, it is boring, I know. Sorry."

"Bye..." She waved off his apology, started to leave again, and then turned back. "Oh, wait. That wasn't the memory you wanted me to see, was it? The wedding? Was there something else?"

In all of the turmoil since Harry had first seen Ginny with the Pensieve--Sidi, Alithea, Hermione--Harry had quite forgotten Neville's proposal. "Uh, yeah, Ginny, but it's late. Do you think Severus would mind? I could show you tomorrow."

Ginny looked at Harry quizzically, her dark eyes flashing. "I don't think he cares. Doesn't like the bloody thing, he says. Makes you spend all of your time facing backwards." Harry shivered. "Look, I'll come up after the Quidditch match, okay?"

"Why don't I bring this down to your rooms? Once the match is over."

Slowly, Ginny nodded, then she touched him on the shoulder and left, her robes susurrating gently as she passed through the outer office and down the stairs.

Harry shut the Pensieve away in a cabinet, next to a broken Sneakoscope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaaaand... the title finally comes clean.
> 
> Poor Harry. He gets to work some things out next chapter, I promise!
> 
> The conversation between Harry and Sidi in this chapter was one of the hardest bits in the whole fic to write. How do you tell a child the truth without scaring the heck out of her?


	10. 9 - Wingardium Leviosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a surprising letter arrives, the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors play the match of the (new) century, and Harry finds out what his godson has been up to.

The Great Hall was abuzz the next morning--not only was the Quidditch match the last of the year, but, depending on the final score, would put Gryffindor or Hufflepuff in the lead for the House Cup or, if the score was very close, would hand the lead to Ravenclaw. Even the Slytherins were gabbling away--arguing heatedly which outcome would do them the most good.  
  
Both Alithea and Circe waved to Harry as they strode into the hall, each surrounded by her teammates. Circe walked over to the Gryffindor table and gave Sidi a hug, which Harry's daughter returned somewhat timidly.  
  
Harry Weasley was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Harry was about to ask Ron whether he had seen his nephew at all during the previous day and a half when the owls came in with the morning mail. To his surprise, Harry watched a small brown barn owl swoop down and land immediately before him. At first he thought the bird might have come from the Ministry, carrying a message from his wife. But it was just the school owl that he had sent to Remus. It stuck out its leg and lackadaisically pushed its beak into his water goblet while he retrieved the letter, then floated out of the hall.  
  
"What you got there?" Ron asked around a forkful of omelette.  
  
"It's from Remus," Harry said, and read out loud:  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
Dealing with angry women was always something you were better equipped for than I. I remember your mother leveling her full, red-headed rage upon me when she first worked out why I went missing every month, demanding to know why I hadn't trusted her before, and I must say no Boggart or Dementor ever frightened me half as much.  
  
_Ron and Neville both chuckled at this; Luna hummed into her spelt porridge and Ginny raised a ginger eyebrow.  
  
 _I am well. Neville's been getting the boringly positive reports on a daily basis, but the upshot is that the treatment does not seem to have had any negative side-effects, and when the moon rises tonight, we shall see how efficacious it actually may be.  
  
Teaching at Hogwarts can be exhausting and disconcerting, I know. The ghosts--both literal and figurative--run so thick in those old stone corridors that it can become difficult to avoid becoming spellbound. Try to remember that you are there to serve the students' needs, and then let the rest take care of itself as best you can.  
  
I am excited to hear about the Boggart. They've been hard to find the last few years, but yes, I've noticed our potions master becoming a steady favorite of late. Nott has always been a bit of a puzzlement to me, but a pleasant one. I've watched him with Professor Studdiford, and with the students, and I've grown to like and respect him, but I cannot say that I know him, for all the time we've spent together.  
  
_Nott, whom Harry hadn't noticed walking behind Neville, murmured, "Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. No bloody subtlety."  
  
At the center of the table, Professor Snape's nose rose, as if sniffing.  
  
"So I've been told, Nott," Harry said, and Nott nodded and passed on.  
  
"Anything else in there?" Ron asked.  
  
"No, just saying the students are, uh, lucky to have me, 'especially that Gryffindor third-year girl with the black curly hair who sits on the right-hand side.'" Harry looked up and found Sidi sitting next to Circe Taylor, her eyes focused on the door to the hall. Both girls looked positively grim.  
  
Harry once again began to ask about his godson when a bright flash of flame on the table immediately between his breakfast and Ginny's startled the entire assembly. A buzz ran through the already-excited student tables as Fawkes shook a couple of feathers off of his rather bedraggled head, and began to walk forward, a parchment envelope in his mouth.  
  
Harry reached out to take the letter, but the phoenix shook its head and waddled over to Ginny. When she took it, Fawkes fluffed his feathers and leapt up onto the back of Harry's chair. He could see "To Ginevra Molly Weasley Longbottom" written in Hermione's tiny, precise script on the letter. Ginny peered at him and all Harry could do was shrug. She opened the envelope.  
  
"Is that old Fawkes!" came a garrulous voice from Ron's chair. Professor Grubly-Plank was exuding gruff good humor and the smell of stale tobacco. "Damn, but he looks terrible. Near a Burning Day, is he?"  
  
Harry smiled wanly and nodded, running a hand through the magnificent if somewhat the worse-for-wear tail.  
  
"Listen," said Care for Magical Creatures teacher, "I don't suppose he could, um, stick around for a few days? Only, I'd love for my students to get a chance to see this part of a phoenix's cycle--so astonishing, isn't it?"  
  
Harry agreed and said they could make arrangements for Fawkes to stay down by Hagrid's old quarters.  
  
When Harry looked back to Ginny, her face was screwed up in an uncharacteristic frown. She held the letter out to Harry.  
  
 _Dear Ginny,  
  
I am so sorry that it's been so long since we've had the chance to talk. My duties are no excuse--you are still the best friend I have, along with your brother--and of course my husband. I've been thinking of you quite a bit of late.  
  
I have something I need to speak with you about--it's something exceedingly personal. I have, therefore, set a coding spell upon the rest of this letter. To unlock it, simply tap the letter with your wand and say the name of the fellow below._  
  
The rest of the parchment was taken up with a beautifully inked drawing of what looked to be a stuffed unicorn. "It was a Christmas present from Hermione the first year I was here," Ginny said. She was peering at Harry intently. Harry could feel hundreds of other pairs of eyes weighing down on them, including Ron's, Luna's and Neville's. He felt a twinge of panic thrill through him.  
  
Leaning forward, Ginny whispered, for his ear alone, "Look, if this is something that affects you in any way, if it's about you and me or, heaven forbid, about Hermione and my brother, I promise I'll show it to you, okay?"  
  
Harry nodded and leaned back. Fawkes nibbled on his ear.  
  
Through the rest of the breakfast, students kept wandering up--no doubt curious about what was going on, but mostly to get a good look at the phoenix, who sat there on display, proudly disheveled. Sidi walked up with Circe just as Alithea Weasley approached.  
  
Harry leaned forward and wished both Circe and Alithea good luck. They faced each other, each bearing an expression of fierce determination. After a moment, they each nodded to Harry and walked out of the Great Hall. They left the room side by side, but they might as well have been on different planets.  
  
"Well," said Sidi mutedly, "better get out to the Quidditch pitch."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Out of habit, Harry started to walk towards the Gryffindor stands, but Luna, Ginny and Neville pulled him towards the teachers' section. "What do you think you are, a bloody plebe?" Ginny teased.  
  
It took Harry and both Longbottoms to get Luna up into the stands and settled into a seat. "You know, Luna, I'm sure you could miss the match," Harry said, trying not to be too obvious about gasping for breath.  
  
"Oh," Luna said airily, "I don't care much for Quidditch. I just love to watch Ronald fly." With a puffy finger, she pointed out to where Ron was standing in his referee robes, getting ready to release the balls and start the game.  
  
"So," Neville said jovially, leaning across Ginny, "I hear you've been plotting the demise of my house's team."  
  
"I hope you don't really think that," Harry retorted.  
  
"No, no!" Neville laughed. "Our one and only Weasley showed up in Greenhouse Five yesterday morning and revealed her somewhat less lovely side, claiming that there was a plot afoot to steal the match for Gryffindor."  
  
"Yes," Harry said, "she bared her beak to me, too."  
  
"Harry! That's my niece you two are talking about," Ginny yelped, and punched him in the thigh.  
  
Harry was about to tell her that he, like Remus, knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of a red-head's wrath when Ron blew the whistle.  
  
"And they're off!" boomed the amplified voice of one of students--Krishna Finnigan, Harry saw.  
  
Fifteen figures--seven red, seven yellow, and Ron in black--zoomed into the sky and immediately began to loop and dive.  
  
Within minutes it was clear that Ron had been right--Gryffindor was dominating control of both the Quaffle and the Bludgers. The Chasers worked together as a unit more smoothly even than Katie, Alicia and Angelina ever had; it was beautiful to watch. And the two Beaters--one was the white-blond boy who had almost challenged Harry in his first class--kept the Hufflepuff players totally off balance. It was 30-0 before five minutes had passed, and Harry was sure that Alithea had predicted correctly: if she didn't grab the Snitch soon, the match was going to be a landslide for Gryffindor.  
  
Harry peered up to where the Seekers should be scanning for the Snitch--and there they were. Alithea, desperate to end the game quickly, was slashing up and down the length of the pitch, her light red ponytail snapping behind her like flame. Circe, smaller but more maneuverable, was dogging her every move--sticking to her like a shadow.  
  
Harry smiled. Each was following the strategy he had suggested. He had said to Circe, "Look, it doesn't matter if you get the Snitch--you just need to keep the other Seeker _away_ from it long enough for your team to score a couple of hundred points. Block her. Don't let her turn. Force her off-track." It was a strategy he had learned once upon a time from Cho Chang.  
  
Knowing this, he had said to Alithea, "She's quick and fast too, but she's smaller than you are--don't let her get in your way. Use your size and strength to your advantage. Fly _through_ her if you have to."  
  
As the game became more lopsided, more and more of the spectators joined Harry in focusing on the two girls, who were whizzing around the stadium, a joined pair of blurs. At one point the two whooshed mere feet over Harry and Luna's heads--Luna barely seemed to notice, since she was watching her husband, who was separating the blond Beater from one of the Hufflepuff Chasers, who had lost his temper. As the girls buzzed overhead so close that the brooms' twigs mussed their hair, Luna gave a startled hiccough and Harry could see Alithea using her foot to push the smaller girl out of her way.  
  
"Bugger," Ginny muttered, "Ali's going to _kill_ that girl."  
  
Harry watched Circe execute a deft roll to move to her opponent's other side, and he grinned. "Nah," he said, "she's tougher than she looks. Kind of like another smallish girl I once saw flying Seeker for Gryffindor."  
  
Neville laughed, which caused little Professor Mundy, who was sitting in front of them, to turn around, her eyes gleaming. "I feel like I'm watching you and Malfoy trying to kill each other up there again!"  
  
Nott, who was sitting beside her, deadpanned, "Yes, except that in that case the threat of death was real, imminent, and intentional." This caused a general howl from all of the younger faculty members.  
  
It would go down as one of the greatest Seeker duels in Hogwarts history. For more than an hour and a half, the two spun and circled, flashing through the melee into which the heart of the game had descended. Twice Alithea spotted the Snitch, and twice Circe was able to use her shoulder to force the taller girl away before she could grab it. Each girl feinted masterfully--Alithea resorting to the Wronski several times to try and plow Circe into the ground. But each time, the other girl spotted the feint for what it was, and the duel continued.  
  
At one point, randomly, Ginny called out to all of the faculty, "Oi, anyone see any redheads in the Gryffindor section?" No one did.  
  
Soon the game was clearly decided--Gryffindor was leading by over four hundred points, and even if Alithea caught the Snitch, the margin of victory would push Professor Armstrong's house into the lead for both the Quidditch and House Cups. Since the game itself was all but academic, the crowd had now joined Harry in focusing on the two whirling Seekers. Their hair whipping free, their robes torn, the girls were slashing and diving around each other like falcons fighting over some poor sparrow. The crowd gasped each time they came into contact and held their breath every time they dived.  
  
Harry was just beginning to worry that one of the girls--Circe, most likely--would literally drop off of her broom in fatigue. Suddenly, just above the grass, he caught a glint of gold. Both girls spotted it too, and pulled into a power dive straight at the bobbing Snitch. Shoulder to shoulder the two sped downward, each jockeying for position, barely pulling out at the last second. Red robes and yellow, fair skin and coffee, they tumbled over each other, off their brooms and onto the pitch. They lay there in a crumpled mass for several seconds--the crowd was absolutely silent and the other players hovered anxiously--until a yellow clad arm rose from the pile, holding the madly buzzing Snitch.  
  
The stadium erupted. The ovation was so loud, that even sitting just four rows back, Harry could barely hear Krishna Finnigan calling out, "Weasley catches the Snitch, but Gryffindor wins! The game is over! Gryffindor 670, Hufflepuff 240! Gryffindor wins!"  
  
Next to him, Harry saw Luna wince, one hand over an ear, and the other on her belly. "We'll get her back up to the castle," Ginny yelled into his ear. "You go and congratulate your girls. You did good, Harry."  
  
Harry nodded and sprinted down onto the pitch. It was a madhouse. Half the student body was on the field, desperately trying to get to the two Seekers. Ron was in the middle, madly blowing his whistle, trying to get everyone to back away. Harry stepped in with Tom Studdiford and the nurse, Madam Skepples, trying to make sure that Circe and Alithea were still in one piece. When they finally fought to the center, Harry found each of the Seekers surrounded by her teammates, being pummeled almost as badly as they had been pummeling each other up in the air. Harry was not surprised to see a look of fierce pride in Alithea's bloodied face; he was shocked and gratified to see it in Circe's.  
  
The Health professor and the nurse quickly backed the students away and checked the two girls over. Astonishingly, neither had more than minor bruises and cuts. When the healers stepped back, Circe and Alithea looked at each other. At first, Harry wasn't sure that Alithea wasn't going to try to hit Circe, but then he saw the Weasley girl raise her hand and offer it to her opposite.  
  
Taylor, with the exuberance of youth, took the proffered hand, pumped it a few times, and then threw her arms around Alithea's neck and gave her an enormous hug. The crowd broke into applause once more.  
  
Harry felt Sidi at his elbow. "Daddy," she said over the din, "that was amazing."  
  
"Was, wasn't it?" was all that he could say.  
  
Then the two stars of the day caught sight of him, and together pulled him into a bear hug that soon included both house sides.  
  
"Thank you!" the two girls howled in either ear, and Harry grinned. Alithea, Harry thought, had never looked less pretty or more proud. And Circe looked as if she wanted to jump back on the Firebolt and do it all again.  
  
"Nice broom, eh?" he called to her, and she grinned, holding it up.  
  
Suddenly, the volume dipped, as if a blanket had been thrown over the crowd. Harry looked around and saw students pointing up into the sky, towards the castle.  
  
Harry looked up himself and saw a figure streaking towards the Quidditch stadium at breakneck speed. Over a windswept black cloak, Harry could make out bright red eyes and a snake-like slit nose.  
  
Voldemort?  
  
The whole crowd began to whisper nervously.  
  
When the flyer reached the sky over their heads, a stream of smoke sprang from the back of his broom. Hunched over his broom, still traveling at full speed, the figure began to spell out letters.  
  
Someone nearby muttered, "Surrender Dorothy," and the scattered titters revealed the students who had, like Harry, grown up among Muggles.  
  
But the first letter wasn't an S, it was an L. Voldemort--well, obviously not him, but whoever it was--wibbled as he flew, so that the letters were barely legible: a squashed-looking O, and then V, E, Y, O, U, S, Q, U...  
  
Next to Harry, Sidi gave a frightened squeak.  
  
In the middle of what looked to be a rather unstable I, the broom bucked wildly and its rider nearly fell. Clearly terrified, he wrapped his arms and legs around the broomstick and held on for dear life. Like a stallion bolting to pasture, the broom veered and then shot towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
Barely pausing to think, Harry turned to Circe Taylor and asked, "Mind if I borrow the broom back?" When she nodded, her eyes as wide as the bruising allowed, he snatched the Firebolt from her hand, leapt aboard. With a savage kick, he launched himself into the air, and hurtled to intercept the out-of-control broom.  
  
The other rider was speeding towards the forest in a sloping downward trajectory, his head tucked, apparently oblivious that he was about to plow into the trees at a speed sufficient to splatter him and his broom across a wide swath of timberland.  
  
Harry leaned hard into the handle, urging the Firebolt faster than it had flown in many years. He kept low, focusing simply on catching up to the other broom, rather than trying to rise to its altitude. Pine and oak branches snapped beneath his feet as he zoomed forward. Peeking upwards, he saw that he had nearly pulled even with the other flier--the flapping robes must be slowing him down. Very carefully, he rose parallel to the speeding broom--a glistening, brand-new Clean Sweep XIII, not a scratch on it. The other rider--too short to be Tom Riddle--was wrapped around his broom. Harry could hear a high-pitched whimper. "Hold on!" Harry called out over the rush of the wind. "I'm going to try to slow you down!"  
  
Harry reached across, and pulled back on the handle of the Clean Sweep. They were barely above the treetops now, and Harry knew he had very little margin for error. Holding both brooms, he tried to slow them and steer them into a clearing just ahead. When they were just a few seconds from landing, however, the other broom gave a final vicious buck, broke free, and slammed up against a bent, mossy fir with a heavy thud. Broom and rider tumbled to the ground.  
  
Harry leapt off of his own broom and sprinted over the fallen figure. The skin of his face was oddly lifeless and the neck....  
  
A mask, Harry realized. A mask of Voldemort. No wonder...  
  
When Harry gently pried the mask off, he was not surprised by the battered face he found: his godson, Harry Weasley.  
  
"Can you hear me, Harry?" Harry called. There was a generous lump on the boy's forehead, and one of his legs was canted at an angle that didn't look good. "Listen, son, can you hear me?"  
  
Harry Weasley groaned; the eye opposite the goose-egg opened and he muttered, "Did she see it?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Squid..." he moaned.  
  
Oh. _Oh._ "Yes, Harry, she did."  
  
With that, the boy gave a grunt, rolled his head onto his godfather's lap, and closed his eye again.  
  
"Hold on, Harry, I'm going to get someone to take care of that leg, all right? Stay with me, will you? I need some company." Don't want you falling asleep. Harry pulled out his wand and shot a flare of red sparks into the sky. At least I can still do that, he thought. "That was very brave, Harry," he said.  
  
"Wasn't," the boy groaned thickly. "It was stupid. I was scared."  
  
"Being brave doesn't mean not being scared," Harry said. "It means doing what you have to, even _if_ you're scared."  
  
Harry Weasley grunted again.  
  
"Especially if you're scared... Look, Harry," said Harry, "I'm really sorry I ever talked to you about..."  
  
"'Bout Squid? Nah, you were right. I mean, I got all these whatchamers boiling around inside me, she has no way of knowing if I don't tell her, right? So I told her. For everyone to see." He started to roll and then winced. "Leg feels like hell."  
  
"I think it's broken. Someone'll be here soon; they'll mend it straight away."  
  
The boy's brown eye peered up at him. "She saw it though? What did she think?"  
  
Harry ran his hand gently through the boy's hair. He remembered Sidi's stifled squeal. "I think she was surprised."  
  
Harry Weasley grinned wanly. "I bet."  
  
At that moment, there was a whoosh as a large Persian carpet bearing Tom Studdiford and Lois Skepples floated gently to the ground beside them. Madam Skepples, who bore the aggrieved look that has marked school nurses since time immemorial, took the boy's head from Harry and shoved the godfather back, quickly taking inventory of the godson's wounds.  
  
"Lucky thing you caught him," Tom said, "or we'd have been bringing him back to the school in a cauldron."  
  
Harry smiled weakly. "He going to be all right?"  
  
"Won't know till we get him back to the castle. But he was conscious, yes?" Harry nodded. "Then he should be fine--just some broken bones, bruises... You didn't try to heal anything, did you?"  
  
"No," Harry said.  
  
Tom nodded. "Thanks. You wouldn't believe how much damage is done by wizards who think they know how to take care of a simple fracture or bruise."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I _would_ believe it." Harry smiled again.  
  
Together the three of them lifted Harry onto the flying carpet--"Had to petition some frightful old fart at the Ministry for months to get this imported. This lad's uncle as it happens. But it's dead useful"--and then Harry escorted them back to the castle and the hospital wing.  
  
Sidi met them at the door, along with Ginny and Neville. They had guessed that this was where Harry Weasley would be headed.  
  
"Daddy?"  
  
"Yeah, Sid?"  
  
By way of an answer, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the cheek. Then she sprinted inside.  
  
Harry was about to follow his daughter in when Ginny caught his elbow. "This," she said, "is where, having played the hero, you gracefully absent yourself from _their_ story."  
  
"Oh," Harry said. "Right."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Dinner that night might as well have been a major feast. The Great Hall never quite quieted below the volume of a jet airplane warming up in its hangar. Students were running around, comparing stories about the amazing match and its aftermath. Professor Mundy had brought several bottles of methglyn--a raspberry-flavored mead--for the staff table, and Harry indulged rather more than he should. Ron kept proposing toasts in a more and more boisterous bellow. He was beginning to sound positively Hagrid-like, Harry mused.  
  
Harry Weasley and Sidi weren't present. Tom Studdiford informed the staff table that young Mr. Weasley would be fine--that his pride had been rather more seriously damaged than his body, but that young Ms. Potter was looking to that. The pride, that is, the Health professor had added when Harry had shot him a look of parental panic.  
  
At the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, the two Seekers were being feted in grand style. Circe's housemates had lifted her up onto the table and placed a paper crown on her head. Her smile was so broad it seemed to light the entire room.  
  
Alithea Weasley had chosen not to have her injuries looked to. Still bruised, a line of dried blood still running down from her brow to her chin, she looked every bit the grizzled veteran; yet even then she somehow managed to look beautiful. Harry imagined, however, that this was one time when no one--certainly not Alithea--cared at all how she looked.  
  
Only two people present seemed not to be caught up in the celebratory mood: Professor Snape, who moodily brushed aside any attempts to fill his wine glass, and Luna, who seemed to have lost her appetite entirely.  
  
"You okay?" Harry asked her under Ron's uplifted goblet.  
  
"Tummy ache," she muttered. "Think I'll go find a Snorkack to settle it and lie down for a bit."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
When Harry floated into the Remus's rooms nearly an hour later, he was feeling very pleased with himself. Crisis with Sidi averted. Godson saved. Not bad for an old man.  
  
He was about to put in a Floo call to Hermione and the kids when there was a knock on the doorframe. It was Ginny.  
  
"Something wrong?" he asked. Luna? Young Harry? Neville? "You seemed happy enough fifteen minutes ago... What's happened?"  
  
She didn't look angry; Harry knew that look intimately at this point. She seemed more confused. Perturbed. She held up the letter from Hermione. "Do you know about this?" she asked in an even tone.  
  
Harry shook his head. "Know? Know what? Is it about you and me? Or her and your swot of a brother?"  
  
Ginny gave a snort. "No. That's rubbish. Look." She opened the parchment and was about to tap her wand when she looked up, suddenly shy. "Um, Harry, just remember I was eleven when she gave me this, okay? The unicorn?"  
  
"Uh, okay."  
  
She raised her wand and touched it to the drawing on the letter. "Harry." As the ink lines separated and began to move around the page, rearranging themselves into letters, Ginny peered up into Harry's face, her own turning bright red.  
  
"Oh," said Harry. "Wow."  
  
"Just read the bloody thing," she said.  
  
The letter continued:  
  
 _Given how little I've been able to see you recently, it is more than a little presumptuous of me to guess what's going on in your life, I know. But between the times that we_ have _been able to talk, and the little I've been able to gather from Harry and others who have been better friends than I have managed to be, I gather you have been upset about something for the last few months. When we have had to opportunity to talk, you haven't brought it up, and so I will hazard a guess as to what's bothering you: your and Neville's inability to have children.  
  
As it happens, I have reason to suppose that it is an inability, not a choice, and that the source of this inability is Neville.  
  
This is all presumptuous in the extreme, as I have said. All of it, of course, is rank conjecture. If I have mistaken the case, please put this down to Hermione meddling again.  
  
If, however, my suppositions are correct, I would like to offer a remedy: Harry.  
  
I am reasonably certain that neither you nor my husband would object to such an arrangement. You would be welcome to avail yourself of either artificial insemination--although I understand this is usually considered less than efficacious by most Wizarding healers and midwives--or of the more traditional arrangement.  
  
I do not make this offer lightly. It is very much an expression of the love I feel for you and for Neville.  
  
Think this over. Discuss it with your husband and please let me know what you have decided.  
  
Yours very truly,  
  
Hermione Jane Granger  
  
_By the time Harry had reached the end, he was laughing so hard he could scarcely breathe.  
  
"What?" Ginny asked sharply. "Harry, did you put her up to this? Did you tell her about Neville? Because if you did..."  
  
Tears streaming down his face, he shook his head emphatically and stumbled over to the closet, pulling the Pensieve down from its shelf. Still breathless, he placed it on the table, drew a memory out of his mind, grabbed the bewildered Ginny's hand and dove in.  
  
They were sitting on the northern shore of the lake. Neville and Harry were chatting as they stumbled on the rocks that were strewn across the path.In the memory, Harry was blathering. "You had lost your parents too, even if they were still alive, and no one made any fuss about that."  
  
"Not that I gave them the chance," said Neville. "But for you not to be resentful at all, it's really quite remarkable, Harry."  
  
Ginny began to open her mouth--no doubt to ask the perfectly reasonable question of what this had to do with anything.  
  
Harry raised a shaky finger to his lips as his memory-self said, "I've got as wonderful a life as a wizard could ask for. An amazing wife, a loving family..."  
  
"Yeees," Neville mused, "when it comes to that, I must say I've always rather envied _you_ , Harry. Ginny and I..." Neville stopped and looked out toward the castle, his ears pinkening slightly. Here it comes, thought Harry. Woohoo! "Have you ever wondered why Ginny and I don't have any children?"  
  
Ginny's eyes popped wide as she listened to her husband stutter through his proposal. "Did they?..."  
  
Harry shook his head, the giggles overcoming him again.  
  
"And you didn't say anything to?..."  
  
"No," Harry managed to get out. "Wanted to talk to you first..."  
  
And with that, they both collapsed onto the sand, laughing and cackling like hags in a particularly bad Panto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was just fun--I wrote it in a single sitting. Man, is it hard to write a Quidditch match that's compelling! I totally understand why JKR said she was happy to be done with them after the Luna-announced match in HBP.
> 
> And forgive the Wizard of Oz reference--I couldn't help myself. :-)


	11. 10 - Respiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry finds out about a very unusual arrangement in the Weasley family, Hermione heads off to her mom's, and Ginny threatens to tie Harry up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied femmeslash and polyamory. _Very_ implied. So don't be disappointed. ;-)

When Harry and Ginny had recovered sufficiently to retreat from the Pensieve, they sat, side by side on the battered couch, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Well," said Ginny, her nose red from having been blown so often.  
  
"Well," said Harry. "What the hell do we do _now_?"  
  
"What?" Ginny gasped. " _Now?_ " Then she smiled and slid closer to Harry on the couch. "Well, I'm not exactly a vision of loveliness at the moment, Mr. Potter, but..."  
  
Harry spluttered, "You mean, you want to, you know, go through with this?"  
  
Leaning back, Ginny peered at him quizzically. "Harry, we almost went through with it _before_ Hermy and Neville decided to play matchmaker. So why wouldn't we?..."  
  
"Because it's under false pretenses!" Harry said, rather more emphatically than he had intended.  
  
"False?..." Ginny goggled at him. "What the hell are you on about?"  
  
Resting his head in his hands, Harry stared down at the peculiar orange stain. "They think this is about you wanting to have a bloody _baby_ , Ginny."  
  
She simply stared at him.  
  
"It isn't, is it?" he asked  
  
The stare melted into an inward scowl. "I think it is, a bit, yeah. What, you thought it was all about your animal magnetism? I mean," she said, touching his arm, "it's that too. But watching Luna this year, and getting to see Siria every day, yeah, I've had this little voice in my head whispering 'I want one of _those_.'"  
  
"So," Harry said, trying hard not to sound hurt, "like your husband, you think of me as good breeding stock."  
  
Ginny's face, which had been laughter-mottled, now turned a gleaming, uniform crimson. "Harry, that's... You know what I think of you." She smiled shyly. "Besides, you _are_ terrific breeding stock. I mean, look at all of your kids. They're amazing...."  
  
Harry stared back down at the spot. "If they're mine."  
  
He could hear Ginny choke in surprise. "Merlin, Harry, you don't... Oh, you have been badly bit, haven't you."  
  
"I know it's ridiculous, Ginny, I know I'm just spilling my own guilt onto Hermione. But I can't help thinking about it. Can't help wondering. I mean, Siria's got to be mine, with that hair and those eyes. But Minnie? Albie?"  
  
Ginny took a breath, decided better of whatever she was going to say, and let it out again. "So, you think that has something to do with?..."  
  
Harry nodded. "I think that's why Hermione made the bloody suggestion. That's why I found it so bloody hilarious. I think she's trying to, you know, expiate her own guilt."  
  
When Harry looked up at Ginny again, her face had gone back to being mottled. "Harry, I love you. As a man, you know. And as a friend. But that is the biggest load of rubbish I've ever heard in my whole life."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome." She smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back. "You need to talk to Hermione, luv."  
  
"I know. I just..." He shivered. "I don't want to do it over the Floo. You know she's coming up on Tuesday?"  
  
"Yeah, I was in the class when you announced that it was a secret."  
  
"Right." The mere thought of that morning made Harry's already knotted stomach churn.  
  
She pushed at his shoulder. "It's all right. Ron had already told me. No one but Percy takes the whole secrecy thing terribly seriously." She laid the hand on his shoulder. "But Harry, what are you going to do? About _this_ , I mean?" She acknowledged the Pensieve and the letter next to it with a nod.  
  
"Oh," said Harry. "I suppose if Hermione doesn't rip my throat out for suspecting her wrongly and I haven't thrown myself into the lake for suspecting correctly... I'll, uh, talk to her about it." Harry turned towards her, trying to find the bottoms of those dark eyes, and ran his fingers absent-mindedly through her hair. "Do you really? Want babies? I mean, they eat your heart. They make you old."  
  
She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him on the lips--very gently. Harry found himself leaning into the kiss just as she backed away. "Whose bloody daughter do you think I am? Of course I want a brat or eight of my own. So I expect you to work hard."  
  
She stood. "And do they really make you old? Or do they just remind you that time is passing?"  
  
Sadly, he smiled. "Both. Mostly the second, though."  
  
"You know, Harry," Ginny said thoughtfully from the doorway, "I think next time I'm just going to tie you down to the bed and have my way with you. You think too bloody much."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
As he was trying to clear that image from his head, Harry heard a pop, and saw his fireplace blaze into green flame, Hermione's face poised right in the middle. "Hullo, darling," he said.  
  
"Hullo, darling. Tried to call a half-hour ago, but you weren't here."  
  
"Sorry. Late dinner."  
  
"Hmm. The Floo Network could learn a thing or two from Muggle telephones. Answering machines, for example. I've been talking to some of my old friends down on the ninth floor, trying to get them to look in to it."  
  
They smiled, and for a moment, everything seemed almost normal. Then both smiles faded.  
  
Hermione broke the silence. "I got an owl from Angelina about an hour ago. She tells me you've been playing the hero again. Did you really?..."  
  
"Get young Harry off of an out-of-control broom, yeah. Of course, he still managed to get a nasty whack on his head when we landed."  
  
"Even so, Harry." She smiled again. "The life debt that clan owes you is becoming a bit steep."  
  
Harry could only scratch his head and shrug.  
  
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "did Fawkes bring Ginny my letter?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, nodding.  
  
"Did she let you read it?" Hermione asked, pursing her lips as she did when she was most nervous.  
  
"As a matter of fact... Yeah, she just brought it over here." He pointed to the letter where it sat on the table, next to the Pensieve.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Hermione, I need to talk to you, and I can't do it like this. Come here. Or I'll Floo there..."  
  
She shook her head definitively. "No, Harry. I think I need some time." Suddenly her tone became brisk again, though her face remained sad. "Well, you won't be able to reach us by Floo, tomorrow. I'll be visiting Mum with the children."  
  
"Oh," Harry said. "Give her my love."  
  
"I will." Hermione's eyes were glistening green through the firelight. "She'll be bringing them to school on Monday and then Celestine will be picking them up on Tuesday, once I've had the chance... Once I'm on my way up to Hogwarts with Undersecretary Eaglerock."  
  
"But... I thought..." Harry got the impression from the way that Hermione's shoulders were working that she was wringing her hands. "I see."  
  
"Yes, things have gotten quite busy. But I'll be with them again at Wednesday dinner." They stared at each other, each considering what not to say. "Good bye, Harry."  
  
"Good bye, Hermione."  
  
As the Floo snuffed out, she began to cry. Her face in the fireplace was the older image of the one the Boggart had shown him the previous Monday.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
It took Harry some time to drain the Pensieve; he reviewed each of the memories, trying to find that sense of calm elation he had felt so briefly after dinner. When that failed, he decided to go for a walk.  
  
His feet directed themselves while his mind wandered. Wander it did, and so did his feet, leading him to the door to the Hospital Wing. Sidi was just leaving.  
  
"Hullo, Daddy," she said, eyes down.  
  
"Hullo, Sid. How's he doing?"  
  
"Oh, he's fine. He's, um, wonderful." She gave him a shy, wild grin through her hair. "His mum's in with him--she and Uncle Fred just got here. Madam Skepples says he should be able to leave tomorrow, but she wanted to watch him overnight, because of the bump on his head."  
  
"Makes sense."  
  
"She gave him a sleeping draught. Told me it was time to head back to the dormitory."  
  
"Which it is." Harry ran a hand through her unruly curls. "How are you?"  
  
She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed moistly. Harry put his arms around her. "We talked. Like you said."  
  
"Good." They rested there in silence, Harry providing the only protection he could devise against the sense of vulnerability he knew she must be feeling: the circle of his arms. No longer a circle wide enough to carry her entire, but a ward nonetheless. He didn't expect her to share the conversation with him. He'd be just as happy if she didn't.  
  
"Daddy," she asked, "how do you know?"  
  
"Know what, sweetie?"  
  
"You and Mum, you were friends for so long... How can you tell if what you feel is _real_... you know?"  
  
"Oh, Sid..." Harry felt his throat constrict, felt himself want to cry and vomit. "You can't ever know. You just... trust. And see. It isn't just the feelings, you see. But in any case, you'll see how you treat each other. And that'll let you know what's happening."  
  
Harry could feel his daughter frown against his chest. "But... he's so _stupid_ sometimes. I just want to shout at him."  
  
"I didn't say you always have to be sweet and happy. But if you can treat each other well even when you're angry with each other, then maybe you've got something."  
  
"Like you and Mum."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You and Mum. Even when you're really angry with each other you never really yell."  
  
"Oh, sweetie," Harry muttered, feeling the tears win out over the nausea, "we've given each other hell properly once or twice before now. We just save it for later, you know."  
  
"I don't." She pulled away from him slightly and looked up. "Daddy... what's wrong?"  
  
"Sid... It's nothing. You're mother's having a bit of a rough patch, and I'm not being very helpful."  
  
"Is it about Opa Granger?"  
  
"Yeah, it's your grandfather. And some other things as well." Harry shook his head. Once again, as on the day before at the feet of Uric's statue, he felt all the worse for telling her something that was _almost_ the truth. "She's doing fine. Though I know she's very excited to see you on Tuesday. Now, sweetie, time for you to get back to the Gryffindor tower."  
  
She kissed him on the cheek and waved as she retreated down the hallway.  
  
Harry was standing, listening to the fading sound of her shoes on the heavy stone stairs, when he heard the door open again behind him. He turned to discover a dark-skinned witch with steel-grey hair and a web of laugh lines radiating from each eye. "Angelina," Harry said.  
  
He would have said more, but for the third time in an hour, Harry found himself being kissed. It was not an unpleasant experience, in spite of the fact that she had never shown the slightest interest in him as anything except a Seeker and her husband's friend, and in spite of the fact that her once-voluptuous figure had rather evened out over the years.  
  
"Wow," Harry said when she finally let him loose. "I should land young Harry in the Hospital Wing more often."  
  
"Harry, don't be thick. We both know you saved my son's life."  
  
"Yeah, but if I hadn't played the nervous dad last week, he probably wouldn't have pulled a stunt like that..."  
  
Angelina looked at him levelly. "Look, your Siria told me all about that, while Harry was falling asleep." She crossed her arms. "You know my son better than that, Potter. And you've, you've _seen_ them together. They're so damned sweet it almost makes me want to puke. He would have pulled some idiot stunt or other, and it could have been infinitely worse."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose," Harry sighed.  
  
"I'm angry at myself. What Fred and I thought, buying him that broom for his birthday..." She glowered.  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to smile. "It must have seemed like a good idea at the time."  
  
Angelina gave a loud, dismissive snort. "I need a drink. Fred's getting us set up at the Broomsticks. Let us at least buy you a pint or two."  
  
"Sounds great," Harry said, though he was mostly looking forward to the chance to get outside of the castle for a few hours.  
  
Once they had grabbed Harry a cloak from his room, they left through the Entry Hall and began the walk down to Hogsmeade, a walk Harry had never made at nighttime--at least, not above ground. The stars seemed to be fluttering just overhead like bemused moths, hovering around the white disk of the moon.  
  
"So how's little Josephine?" Harry asked, trying not to think about Remus as they strode down the way.  
  
"Fabulous. We left her with my mum as soon as I got the owl." Angelina's eyes searched upward towards the moon.  
  
The image of Hermione, Albie and Minnie heading down to his mother-in-law's house trickled into Harry's head. What was that all about? "Thanks for sending Hermione the note, by the way."  
  
"No problem." Angelina smiled and linked her arm in his. It struck Harry that the two of them had never been alone for so extended a period of time--that in almost three decades of knowing each other, he and Angelina had never been together without teammates, friends or spouses.  
  
"Um, Angelina," Harry said as they strode through the gates, "can I ask you a ridiculously personal question?"  
  
She glanced at him without turning her head. "Well, I suppose..." When Harry was unable to formulate the question into a package that he wasn't certain would be offensive, she said, "It's about Alicia, is it?"  
  
"Yeah," sighed Harry. "After a fashion."  
  
Now Angelina was silent for nearly a minute as they passed out of a grove of ancient oaks. The railway station was visible in the bright moonlight, and Harry could just hear the hubbub from the village's two pubs. "You can ask, Harry, because it's you, so long as you understand that what Ali, Fred, George and I do with our lives is no one's business but our own."  
  
"Absolutely," he promised. "I'm not at all interested in what you do..."  
  
"Yeah, right," she snorted.  
  
"Really. What I want to know is... I don't know." He watched his breath float up towards the stars. "I guess I'm trying to figure out how you can love more than one person. How you can make that work."  
  
"Ah." She gave him the close, calculating look again and then said, "Harry, did you love Sidi any less when Minnie was born, or little Albus?"  
  
"Well, no, of course not. But it wasn't easy for Sidi, or for Minnie, having to learn to share us...."  
  
"There you are," Angelina said. "I've always had to share Fred with George, just like he's always had to share me with Alicia. Any woman that married Fred or George would have been walking in to something every bit as intimate as a marriage. And no, I don't mean sexually, Harry, don't get all nauseated on me. But that's why Katie..." Her face seemed to melt inwards.  
  
"Katie?"  
  
Angelina sighed. "You should ask Fred. But do you understand? It's been part of our relationship from the beginning."  
  
"I see." Harry _did_ see. Unfortunately, the answer had not helped Harry at all.  
  
They had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, which was packed as usual on a Saturday night. Fred was waving energetically from a table at one side of the room, and Harry had begun to follow Angelina through the loud, merry throng when he was enveloped in a warm, soft embrace and the scent of cloves and whiskey. "Harry Potter!" crooned the patroness loudly into his ear.  
  
"Hullo, Rosie," said Harry once she had loosened her grip enough to allow him to breath. "You're looking wonderful!" It was true--grey-haired and smile-lined as she was, she still looked just as happy and playful as she had in the days when she had supplied most of the Hogwarts boys with wet dreams.  
  
"Bless you for a liar, Harry!" she grinned. "Now what's this I hear that you've been up at t'castle for over a week and not come and visited?"  
  
Harry grinned sadly. "Severus keeps me busy, Rosmerta, what can I say. I'll come down again, I promise, and catch up."  
  
"That's a promise I'll hold you to," Rosmerta said with a wink and a yelp-inducing goose on the bum. With a rolling laugh, she walked back behind the bar.  
  
"That woman's been an inspiration to generations of Hogwarts lads!" laughed Fred as Harry sat gingerly.  
  
"And quite a few Hogwarts lasses too," said Angelina.  
  
"Hullo, Fred," Harry laughed.  
  
"Listen, Harry, I've been in debt to you my whole adult life--we've all been in debt to you, the whole wizarding world. But you saved my idiot son's life today. If there's anything I can do... Anything." Fred's red-faced sincerity let Harry know that he had gotten a headstart on the drinking.  
  
"Forget it," Harry muttered.  
  
"We're not going to forget it," said Angelina, "so give it up."  
  
"Fine," Harry said, and lifted a tankard of ale.  
  
Fred and Angelina exchanged glances; Fred leaned forward across the table. "Harry, Angie tells me you were interested in our, er, arrangement."  
  
"Uh, not really," Harry said, staring down into his beer. "Mostly, I was just trying to understand..." He struggled to find a reasonable way of broaching so odd and personal a topic.  
  
"You were asking about loving more than one person," Angelina said.  
  
"Yeah, I suppose that's it. It's just..." Harry back and forth between them.  
  
"You planning on having it on with our Ginny?" Fred said, so seriously he didn't even seem to be trying to keep a straight face.  
  
"I, er," Harry said, "no, not exactly. It's rather more complicated than that."  
  
"Well," Fred said, "complicated we understand. Only advice we can give is be honest, even to yourself."  
  
Angelina sighed, "Especially to yourself." Fred reached out and took Angelina's hand.  
  
"What... what do you mean?" Harry asked.  
  
"Was Katie's problem, wa'nnit," Fred said, and his sigh echoed Angelina's. "She was the fifth wheel, the one who went back and forth among the other four of us. Problem was, she didn't want to."  
  
"It was Fred, you see, that she was in love with," Angelina said, looking her husband straight in the eye. "It ate her up that she'd never really have him--or any of us--to herself. When she stayed on, after our last year at school, she just sort of, I dunno, drew back. Stopped answering our owls."  
  
Fred squeezed Angelina's hand. "She's happy now."  
  
"You've heard from her?" Harry said with a start. "We were all wondering what had happened to Katie. Your younger brother was quite smitten with her, once upon a time."  
  
"Ron?" Fred said with a smile. "That's a laugh. She'd had her fill of Weasleys by then. But yeah, she's happily married."  
  
"In fact," Angelina said with a smirk, "we were at her wedding."  
  
Harry looked back and forth between them--he could tell that there was some punch line coming, and each was waiting for the other to drop it. "What? When?"  
  
"Well," Fred said, the familiar lopsided grin twisting his face, "you remember when we couldn't make it to your party last fall? " Harry nodded. "Well, we said we were in Japan--and we did head over there, but actually, that weekend we were at Katie's wedding. In Argentina."  
  
That couldn't be the joke, Harry thought. "Who did she marry?"  
  
Angelina and Fred stared at each other, and Angelina broke first, giving a loud laugh. "Malfoy!"  
  
Harry was stunned. "What, Draco?"  
  
"Yeah, poor bugger's been bouncing around South America for the last twenty years, trying to find people who give a rat's arse that he's a pureblood. Fortune gone, looks gone. He's potions master at a rundown wizarding school down there, a knock-off Snape. Katie had him absolutely whipped in about two days," Fred sniggered, his face reddening both with amusement and with inebriation.  
  
"He sees the sun and the moon in Katie, and she's happy," said Anglina, glaring. "And that's all that Ali or I--or the boys--care about. Right, Fred?" She whacked him on elbow, and Fred began to howl uproariously, and soon enough Angelina and Harry both joined him.  
  
"Listen, Harry," Fred said, once the alcohol and the hour had left them too tired for laughter, "I'll tell my idiot of a son to treat your daughter right."  
  
"She's a keeper," Angelina slurred in agreement.  
  
"Not nesh... neceshh... You don't have to do that," Harry said, shaking his head. "He's a good kid, even if he is your son."  
  
"But Harry..." Fred whinged.  
  
A sudden clarity broke over Harry like cold morning sunlight. He took out his wand and held it up between him and the Weasleys. "From all debts, indentures, entails, assigns and obligations, whether magical or material, I hereby release you and yours. Go free and go in peace."  
  
Then he scribed a circle of flame in the air between them and, with a puff of breath, blew it away, smoke making Angelina and Fred blink. He leaned across the table and hugged them both while they sat there, stupefied. He stood, and--with a wave to Rosmerta--stumbled out of the pub and into the moonbright night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The conversation with Fred and Angelina came out of a discussion with aberforths_rug on the subject of just what I thought this fic was about...
> 
> We're getting there, I promise! Things will start resolving themselves very soon.


	12. 11 - Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Snape gets pensieve, er, pensive, Tonks drops in, as do the American Undersecretary for Magical Education, Hermione, Percy (uh-oh!)... and a new, much-anticipated character.

The next morning, when his head had stopped throbbing and his stomach had settled, if only somewhat, Harry walked the now-empty Pensieve down up to the Headmaster's office. When he had given the password ("pit viper"), he ascended the stairs and found himself at the door with the griffin knocker.  
  
He was about to knock when the door swung open. Snape stood there in a black dressing gown, a black night cap perched dispiritedly on his head. "Ah, _professor_ ," he said. "I was just talking to Albus about you. Come in."  
  
As Harry entered the room, he was shocked to see how much it had changed from his own days. The windows were shuttered, plunging the room in a dismal gloom, broken only by the glow of the rather-bluer-than-natural embers in the fireplace. Where Professor Dumbledore's collection of spindly silvery doodads had delighted, the tables now were laden with heavy stone mortars, a bubbling cauldron, and several jars containing things whose nature Harry chose not to speculate on.  
  
The portrait of Albus Dumbledore over the desk was gazing sadly down--this portrait reminded Harry of the conversation he had had with the late headmaster in that very room at the end of his fifth year. "Good morning, Harry," said the portrait, with that same ineffable sadness that Harry winced to remember.  
  
"Good morning, professor."  
  
Snape sat below the portrait and laced his fingers thoughtfully. "Brought me a present, have you?"  
  
Harry placed the Pensieve on the black, oaken desk. "Just returning it, sir. Professor Longbottom had something she wanted to show me."  
  
"I'm sure she did," leered the headmaster. Before Harry could even begin to formulate a response, Snape peered down into the stone bowl. "Didn't leave anything in there for me?"  
  
"You've already sifted through my most memorable humiliations. Sir." Harry could feel his face growing red. He felt sixteen all over again, and it wasn't a good feeling.  
  
"As you have mine," said Snape, an icy smile bowing his lips.  
  
"True." Harry held the headmaster's black gaze for a moment. "Well, thank you for letting us use..."  
  
"My _pleasure_. _Professor._ I abhor the thing, except as a defense against Legilemency. But then," he gave Harry the cold smile again, "you already know that."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"It seems to me that a life spent reexamining the past is a life as surely wasted as one spent gazing into that damned mirror Albus was so fond of. Are you going to spend your remaining years pathetically clutching at memories of your glory days?"  
  
"No, sir," Harry said, rather more firmly than he had meant to. "I can't say that I have the time--or the inclination, for that matter."  
  
A narrow eyebrow arched in visual counterpoint to the older man's thin smile. "I cannot tell you how... relieved I am to hear that. _Professor_."  
  
"Is that what you and Professor Dumbledore were discussing?" Harry blurted.  
  
Now the headmaster's smile became broader--always a bad sign. "No, Mr. Potter. It was not. We were discussing the current state of your home life."  
  
Harry glanced up at the portrait, which merely pursed its lips and shook its head.  
  
"Not that Albus would ever be so indiscrete as to give me _details_ , mind you, but his portrait in your house has been giving him reports that have him... well, _concerned_." Snape peered up almost warmly at the portrait behind him. "More portraits of him scattered among wizarding homes than the rest of this lot put together. Quite useful." And the former spy favored Harry with a vulpine grin.  
  
"Yes," said Harry, at a loss for words. "Thank you." And with another glance up at Dumbledore's downcast face, he left the office.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
At lunch, Ginny and Neville sat next to him with matching looks of keen expectation. Luna seemed more other-where than ever, and Ron waited on her like the expectant father he was.  
  
In the hall, the previous day's excitement still held. Alithea Weasley had washed her face, but still appeared as battle-scarred and lovely as she had the evening before. Circe Taylor had to fight to keep from being placed back up on the table by her friends--by _most_ of her friends.  
  
Sidi and young Harry were sitting together--Harry still sporting a plaster on his forehead--oblivious to the world. From the buzz of conversation, Harry was able to ascertain that they were as much a topic of conversation as the already legendary Quidditch match. Many of the girls seemed to have decided that Harry's stunt was the most romantic thing they'd ever seen and were deeply envious. Some of the boys agreed, but many wanted to murder Harry Weasley for raising the girls' expectations. "She'll expect me to get myself actually _killed_ before she'll look at me," one Slytherin fifth-year boy was saying to another.  
  
"Disgusting," said Nott as he strode out of the room.  
  
"I think it's sweet," Harry heard Tom Studdiford say. He couldn't think just what they were referring to until he looked back over to his daughter and godson and realized, from the way their shoulders were pressed together--they were both looking resolutely Not At Each Other--that they were holding hands beneath the table.  
  
Harry smiled and finished his meal.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
That afternoon, Harry wandered down toward the gamekeeper's cabin, just to get outside. The pumpkin patch was gone, and the paddock seemed to have been expanded, but Harry still found himself expecting to hear Fang howling a welcome from inside.  
  
Just as he was about to wander on, the door opened, and out walked Ginny, Angelina, and Fred, who was looking much the worse for wear.  
  
"We're headed off," Angelina said. "Wanted to know if Grubbly-Plank needed a shipment of Nifflers."  
  
"Got a gross of 'em in only last week," Fred said, his eyes almost the color of his hair. "More than even we could use..."  
  
Harry walked with them and Ginny to the gate, enduring yet another round of their thanks before they cleared the grounds and Apparated back to their home in East Anglia.  
  
He and Ginny walked back in silence for a moment before she said, "Fred said you performed an Act of Rescission in the pub last night."  
  
"Yes," Harry said. "I don't want anyone owing me anything."  
  
"Harry," Ginny said, her hand sliding into his, "a life debt isn't something to be tossed away lightly..."  
  
"I know," he said.  
  
She stopped and looked at him. "I... 'You and yours.' Harry, you know that you excused my debt to you as well. The debt I've owed you since you saved me from Tom Riddle..."  
  
He squeezed her hand, hard. He felt more comfortable looking away from her, and so his gaze wandered up the hill to where some Thestrals were watching a raven bate the Whomping Willow. "I knew it. That's what made me do it. Something Hermione had said made me think what a silly thing it was that you should still be bound to me for something that happened when we were children."  
  
"Harry, I don't..." Ginny said, and stopped. She didn't say another word until they were in the entrance hall. Students wandered past them out into the sunshine. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Fine. I no longer owe you my life. Now I can just ask you to make a baby with me, and there's no problem at all."  
  
And with that, she wandered down toward the kitchens and the Hufflepuff warrens.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The Minister for Magic's pending appearance was announced two days later by the arrival in Harry's last class before lunch of a very familiar, heart-shaped face.  
  
"Tonks!" Harry exclaimed as the head of his wife's security detail appeared through the doorway, just as the last of the Gryffindor second-years wandered out.  
  
"Wotcher, Harry!" said the pink-haired witch. She continued to wear this retrograde hairstyle so that the other members of her squad could spot her easily in a crowd.  
  
"Good to see you, you're looking great." She was. The scar on her right cheek gave her a dashing, dangerous look; Harry knew that she could have made it disappear if she so chose, but that she rarely did these days. Some wizards liked to wear their Orders of Merlin on their chests, while others showed their experience in ways both more subtle and more imposing. "How's Charlie?"  
  
Tonks gave a laugh. "How would I know? One of these days, one of us is going to convince the other to tag along. In the mean time, it's the odd weekend and occasional holidays."  
  
"Well," Harry said, "I heard an Auror always gets her man"  
  
"And I always heard you should watch your back with a man who likes to wear dragon-hide jeans," Tonks snorted.  
  
"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"  
  
Tonks's expressive face suddenly hardened. "Well, it's like this..."  
  
"Our boss?" Harry said.  
  
"Uh, yeah. Hermione wanted me... Well... Bugger, Harry, this is embarrassing as hell..." Tonks closed the door with a flick of her wand, locked it and put a Silencing Charm on it. Constant vigilance, Harry mused. "Look, Harry, I'm responsible for the security of the Minister's accommodations, see? And when I asked her where she'd be staying while she was up here, she said she supposed she'd be staying in Remus's digs with you, but, er..." She squinted at him. "But she said I should ask you... if she was, er, welcome."  
  
"She... what?"  
  
Tonks ran a half-gloved hand through her fuchsia hair. "Merlin, Harry, I don't know what the hell's going on between the two of you, but... Bloody hell."  
  
Harry gazed at his friend, and then shook his head. "Yeah, bloody hell." Then he took a deep breath. "Of _course_ she's welcome here. Of course."  
  
Tonks seemed relieved. "Great. I'll just make sure it's secure...." And with a stumble that knocked two chairs over, she sprinted up the stairs.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
At lunch, the hall was abuzz once again, this time discussing the appearance of a squad of Aurors on the school grounds that morning, and the imminent-though-oh-so-secret arrival of the Minister for Magic and a foreign visitor. As Harry walked towards the staircase to prepare for his next class, he saw, through the front door, a knot of witches and wizards making their way up toward the castle, including a short wizard in brightly colored robes, Percy, in his unrelenting black and his fly-away red hair, and Hermione, in her ceremonial green hat.  
  
Sprinting up the stairs, he found himself asking what he was running from. The answer, he decided, wasn't so much Hermione as the thought of having to be around Hermione in public before they'd had a chance to talk. And, he realized, the chances of being able to talk with her were nil.  
  
As he reached the top of the staircase, Tonks passed him heading down. "Tonks!" he called.  
  
The Auror looked at him.  
  
"Tell Hermione, 'Absolutely.' Do you understand?"  
  
She nodded, smiled, and began to scan the entrance hall, her professional attitude falling over her like a mask.  
  
Harry was distracted through the afternoon, but managed his lecture on turning an enemy's magic back on him well enough.  
  
With only a few minutes left in his class with the Hufflepuff third-years, he heard the door open, and looked up to see Professor Snape, looking supremely dyspeptic, flanked by a stony-faced Hermione and the bright-clad gentleman, whom Harry supposed to Undersecretary Eaglerock. Percy's highly disapproving face hovered above the American's rainbow-hued skullcap.  
  
"Pardon the interruption," said Snape, though he said it as though he were actually pronouncing a particularly nasty curse.  
  
"That's, uh, perfectly all right, headmaster," Harry said.  
  
"This is Defense against the Dark Arts," Snape growled, moving to scoot the other members of the party on to the next room.  
  
"Wait!" said the American, beaming. All of his fellow travelers groaned. "I know you!" he said pointing at Harry, striding into the room. "You're... you're Harry Potter!"  
  
Nonplussed, Harry looked at his wide-eyed students and said, "Uh, yes, yes, I am..."  
  
"But," the small, bronze-skinned man said, "where's your scar?"  
  
"Scar?" Harry was out of the habit of having people react to him this way. "Well, it...."  
  
"Oh, that's okay," the man said, turning and smiling at the class. "Hi, kids! Sorry to interrupt... I have a daughter just a little younger than you guys... Anyway, could you sign an autograph, Harry? For my daughter?" With a grin, he pulled a notebook out from under his wildly geometric robes, which were covered with purple lighting bolts and red thunderbirds. "Man, you kids are lucky. My daughter's a huge fan of this guy." He hooked his thumb at Harry.  
  
Not knowing what to say, he hazarded a look to his wife. She had her pursed-lipped, embarrassed-to-the-point-of-impatience look on. "Apparently," she said, "some American wizard wrote a rather... _fanciful_ and entertaining account of the defeat of Voldemort. It's terribly popular."  
  
"Of course," Eaglerock continued as Harry, stunned, signed the notebook, "this lovely lady here is the hero. Huge with the young witches, the Hermione Granger books. The boys like 'em too, but most of 'em won't admit it, ya know? Still, it's great. Knowing someone who's put up with adversity and discrimination can rise to fame and power, even in a place like this."  
  
As he handed the signed book back to the American, Harry saw Hermione's face go blank in a way that told him all too clearly how humiliated she was. Beside her, Percy was turning red and Snape a rather dangerous shade of grey.  
  
"Hey!" Eaglerock said with the enthusiasm that seemed to be his natural state "You two are married aren't you?" When Harry and Hermione both spluttered indistinctly, the Undersecretary for Magical Education went on. "Cool! That's great! Will I see you at the reception later? Great!"  
  
And before Harry had a chance to respond, the diminutive American strode out of the room, pulling most of the party in his wake. When the dust had settled, Hermione and Tonks were the only visitors remaining. "Well, children, uh, Professor," said Hermione, favoring him with a nervous smile, while avoiding meeting his eyes, "thank you for allowing us into your classroom."  
  
"Thank you," Harry said. "Minister."  
  
The students giggled, and Hermione waved to them as she left the room.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Dinner that evening was equally breathless. Jerzy Eaglerock--over the hors-d'oeuvres, Harry learned his grandparents had been, variously, a Japanese _yamabushi,_ a Voodoo Queen, a Navajo Singer and one of the first women Kabbalists--wandered up and down the hall, back and forth along the Head Table, asking everyone questions in the same rapid-fire manner. Harry saw him quizzing Alithea, evidently fascinated with her fresh scars. He held a colloquy with a group of Slytherin and Ravenclaw first-years, apparently on the diet. He shot a series of questions at a startled Luna about her pregnancy leave, the level of healthcare she was receiving, and whether or not she were carrying twins. Hermione sat next to the place where he was supposed to have been, increasingly impassive.  
  
The only time during the whole meal when she showed any emotion at all was when Sidi and Harry walked up, their hands touching back to back. Hermione leaned across the table to kiss both her daughter and her godson.  
  
Professor Snape looked as if he might lose what little of his dinner he had managed to swallow.  
  
When the meal was over, the faculty trailed behind the headmaster, who was striding mutely into the little reception room behind the Great Hall where, all those years ago, Harry had stood, first with his fellow first-years, waiting to be sorted, and later, with the other Tri-Wizard Champions. The room seemed much smaller, now.  
  
Snape's resemblance to a particularly grotesque statue became more and more impressive as the diminutive Eaglerock nattered away. "Of course, we're able to live much more openly in the States. Utopian communities, communes... People won't even bat an eye if a group of weirdos and hippies moves in to town..."  
  
Percy was muttering something under his breath, evidently for Hermione's benefit. While attempting at the least to appear to listen to the American wizard's droning monologue on comparative customs and mores, Harry watched her eyes stray to the middle Weasley brother, and saw her chewing on her cheeks--always a dangerous sign.  
  
Sipping a glass of sparkling mead, Harry tried to catch his wife's eye, but even her skills of communication seemed to be overtaxed by the demands of her guest and Percy.  
  
Deciding not to add to the difficulty, and praying that he would get the chance to talk to his wife soon, Harry meandered over to Ron and Luna. Sipping water, she was grimacing, rocking back and forth.  
  
"How are you?" he asked, ignoring the pleading look from Ron that he not ask just that question.  
  
"Not terribly well, actually," she said. "I've had terrible gas all day long..."  
  
Harry looked at her, at her posture. "Your whole belly gets hard for a few minutes, hurts a little, then it goes away for a while before suddenly hitting you again?"  
  
"Yes," Luna said, her usually airy tone rather edgier than normal. "Do you think it was the kippers?"  
  
"The kippers?" Harry asked. "I didn't know..."  
  
"Couldn't take it this morning," she hissed. "Wanted a _real_ breakfast... Had kippers and bangers and eggs and fried tomatoes..."  
  
"Uh, sorry, I missed breakfast, but no, Luna, I don't think it was the food." He looked at Ron, whose face was twisted in concern. "Have you talked to Professor Studdiford?"  
  
"Just five minutes ago," Ron volunteered.  
  
"No," Harry said, "I mean, have you talked to him about this feeling?"  
  
Luna and Ron both shook their heads. Saying he'd be right back, Harry wandered over to Tom Studdiford and Nott (It seemed strange to think of him by just his last name when his partner went by two) who were chatting quietly but intently with the Longbottoms.  
  
"Oh, good," said Nott, "perhaps she'll listen to sense if it comes from someone she actually likes."  
  
Ginny flushed slightly and sputtered, "Nott, you know I like you, you're just being..."  
  
"I think the word that pertains," Tom offered, "is naughty. Or knotty-with-a-k. Or just Nott-y"  
  
Nott cast a slow, disgusted look over his lover that would have caused most students to run screaming. The Health and Healing professor laughed. "Potter," Nott said, "Flitwick has been making noise about retiring again, and I've been trying to convince this obstinate woman that she should offer her services as head of Ravenclaw House. The only other logical candidate is Lovegood, and even if she were able to stay in contact with objective reality for more than five minutes running, her present... _condition_ would seem to make her a less than perfect candidate for the next few years."  
  
"Ah," Ginny said. "If it comes to that, I, uh, may need to recuse myself for somewhat the same reason."  
  
His face a picture of understated confusion, Nott stared from Ginny to her husband, who was grinning. "Oh, Merlin," he said finally, "another one."  
  
Tom's mouth hung open. "Are you already?..."  
  
"No!" Ginny said. "We're, uh..." She looked to her husband.  
  
"No, no, we're just beginning to look at it," Neville said, beaming, his eyes locked on Harry's.  
  
"Yes, speaking of which," Harry said to Tom, "I think you have a patient in imminent need, Professor. She's in pre-labor."  
  
"But she's not due for weeks," said Ginny.  
  
Tom held up his hand. "You're sure?" he asked Harry.  
  
"Well, as sure as I can be without your training," Harry said. "Hermione always started having the sorts of contractions she's describing a couple of days before she gave birth. But from the way she's behaving, it sounds like Luna might be pretty close; perhaps you should take a look."  
  
"Of course," said the blond wizard, and strode across the room.  
  
"He's been obscenely pleased to have a pregnant woman all to himself," Nott sighed. "This place has been blessedly untroubled with opportunities for him to practice his obstetric talents." Then the potions master pulled a face of the deepest revulsion. "Oh, I do hope she doesn't burst right here."  
  
" _Nott!_ " said Ginny, giving him a backhanded slap to the shoulder.  
  
"You know," Harry said--more to the Longbottoms than to Nott--"Hermione managed just fine after Albie was born."  
  
"Do you mean to compare the wrangling of several hundred of wizarding Britain's most devious, diabolical little monsters," Nott said haughtily, "to the minor matter of overseeing the Ministry of Magic?"  
  
Neville pulled at his beard. "He has a point."  
  
Ginny laughed, the full, rich laugh that always made Harry want to laugh along, whatever the joke. He was, however, preoccupied with watching his wife and Percy. Both peering off into space, they were holding what appeared to be a heated debate through clenched lips. Right, Harry thought, time to beard the lion. Neville, Ginny and Nott were deeply engaged in some obscure rehearsal of school politics. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk towards Hermione.  
  
But before he could cross the room, the short, harlequinesque figure of Jerzy Eaglerock intercepted him. "Just had a nice talk with your wife, Harry. You have three kids? Me too. A twelve-year-old girl--she's the one that's such a fan of your wife and you--and nine-year-old twin boys, holy terrors, I gotta tell you. You know it's funny," he said, glancing over at Luna, who was swaying gently while Tom Studdiford ran his wand over her stomach, "It wasn't until I saw Ms. Weasley that I thought, Whoa! Where's all the pregnant girls?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr., uh..." Harry said, losing Hermione behind a clump of teachers.  
  
"Jerzy."  
  
"Jerzy, yes, _what_ pregnant girls?"  
  
"Well," the small man said, clearly relishing the question, "the school I was the head of, Spirit Bay out in California, the girls there were very into the idea of engaging the Life Force as the most primal source of magic. And the boys were more than happy to help them engage, you know? So we always had a dozen girls or more very happily knocked up at any one time. Don't see that here! Of course, under the robes you all wear, it'd be hard to tell...."  
  
As the man droned on and on, pointing out what he clearly felt were some of the more quaint and archaic aspects of British magical education ("No colleges or universities? What is this, the Middle Ages?") Harry kept trying and failing to make eye contact with his wife.  
  
To his relief, he saw Tonks engage Percy in some conversation--about Charlie, probably--and drag him away from Hermione by something just short of main force. With a quick set of excuses, Harry palmed Eaglerock off on an unsuspecting, unforgiving Professor Snape. "Say, Severus, nice place you've got here!"  
  
The headmaster looked more murderous than Harry had seen him in many, many years.  
  
Harry sprinted through the crowd, spattering mead on several of the teachers' dress robes as he passed. When he reached Hermione, he was breathless; she looked very, very tired.  
  
"Hermione, luv." Harry kissed her on the cheek. She flinched back. "We need to talk."  
  
"I know," she said, her eyes scanning over his shoulder. "But I need you to wait."  
  
"Hermione..." Harry realized that he was very close to losing his temper with her, something he very much did not want to do. He swallowed his exasperation. "What's going on, Hermione? What's going on with you and Percy? And why did you make that offer to Ginny, without even talking to me about it?"  
  
Her eyes went wide. "I... Harry, do you trust me?"  
  
He looked down into her golden brown eyes. He could see from this distance, just how close to dissolving she actually was. "Of course I do, Hermione. But..."  
  
"Trust me, Harry." She put on a fixed smile. "Oh, here's Percy again, with Undersecretary Eaglerock."  
  
"Minister. Harry." Percy's tone sounded as dry and humorless as ever, but his eyes were glazing slightly behind his horned-rim glasses, and he smelled rather of sherry and, yes, Harry thought he detected the sulfurous whiff of a bit of firewhisky as well.  
  
"Percy," Harry said. "Thank you for shepherding Mr. Eaglerock."  
  
"Well," Percy said sourly, "can't have him wandering lost and alone on foreign shores." This was a dig at Hermione, who, Harry supposed, was somehow supposed to be joined to the American wizard's hip.  
  
"Come on!" Eaglerock said, lifting an empty glass. "Ms. Granger's been stuck with me all day! And I've hardly been alone. This is quite a live crowd you've got here, Harry!"  
  
"Well, you should thank Professor Snape. I'm only a substitute teacher."  
  
"Yeah, for that werewolf. Nice to see a real attempt at diversity here. Now, I'm gonna go grab a refill. Talk amongst yourselves!" And he stomped noisily off.  
  
For a moment, Percy, Harry and Hermione stared at each other, none of them willing to start any conversation. Percy finally gave in. Reaching out in most undiplomatic fashion and resting his arm around Hermione's waist, he began affecting a rather inept American accent, "You know, Harry, old pal, you should get jobs out of town more often. Had quite a nice time working very closely with this lovely lady the last couple of weeks."  
  
Had Harry's attention been more on Percy's words than on Hermione's reaction, he would have punched the other wizard before noticing his wife's hand squeezing her wand to sawdust. "You know, Percy, old chap, if you don't get your hand off of my wife's body, she's going to hex your privates off, and I'm going to tattoo the sole of my shoe on your right buttock."  
  
Percy's hand recoiled as if bitten. He stared at the two of them and spat, "Your wife, Harry, old chap, is a bitch."  
  
"If you don't want to see my fangs and Harry's foot at close range, then, Percy, I'd sod off. Quick." Hermione's face was fury-white, her pupils vibrating. Her wand was clear of her robes and pointed at his heart. Tonks's pink head appeared from behind Professor Armstrong, her face battle-ready. Hermione shook her head, and Tonks nodded and stood down.  
  
She took Harry's hand, and the two of them returned Percy's unsteady glare.  
  
"And Percy?" Harry said, with a calmness that shocked him utterly, "I think it might be a good idea to look for work in the private sector."  
  
With a crumpled sneer, Percy pulled himself to his full height. "Give the Undersecretary my regards," he said, turned on his heels, and walked stiffly out of the room.  
  
Hermione's hand still clutched in his, Harry was about to turn to her and demand some answers when another shout rose over the hubbub in the room. "Ahhhhh! Bloody hell! Bollocks! Damn! Oh, damn!"  
  
Not far from the door, Luna was standing--if it could be called standing--with her hands clutching Ron's shoulders. She was bent over at the waist and howling into his face. "Bastard! Ronald! You bloody bastard! YOU DID THIS TO ME!" Then she let out a string of truly inspired obscenities.  
  
As Ron stood in white-faced shock, Luna shrieked into his chest, and the lower half of her pale yellow dress robes was flooded, stained a wet, light pink. Collapsing against her husband, Luna began to laugh. "Water broke! Ahahaha!"  
  
Tom Studdiford conjured a table over from the wall, swept canapés and petit-fours off of the top and tried to help Luna up onto it, but she refused. "Right," he said, over Luna's hysterical giggles--the only other sound in the room--"Walk you up to the hospital wing, shall we?"  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Once Ron and Tom had escorted Luna up to the infirmary, the reception broke up rather quickly. Professors Flitwick and Mundy looked shaken to the core, and the headmaster looked as if someone had slipped stinksap into his mead. Harry doubted any of them had ever had the honor of seeing a woman in labor.  
  
Tonks gave orders that two of the younger Aurors escort Jerzy Eaglerock back down to his rooms in Hogsmeade. "Boy, for a quiet woman, she sure let loose!" he laughed as he strolled out the main doors. Shaking her head, Tonks followed, checking the perimeter of the building as was her habit.  
  
"Must be terrible having a team of Aurors checking under your bed all of the time," Ginny said.  
  
"Not when I'm at home," Hermione sighed. "Grimmauld Place is still more or less impenetrable, so we're left to ourselves there. But it does get rather old, yes."  
  
"Well," Neville mused, "at least it's Tonks." They all smiled. Then the four of them looked at each other, and began to mumble and shuffle their feet, almost in unison. "Come down to our place for a night cap, will you?" Neville suggested.  
  
Harry shot an uncertain glance at his wife, but she nodded with such determination that all he could do was say, quietly, "Okay."  
  
The women linked arms and led the way, whispering seriously at first; before they'd reached the stairs down to the Hufflepuff section of the castle, however, they seemed to be chattering away more like students than forty-year-old women. As they fell in step behind their wives, Harry asked Neville what news he'd gotten from Remus.  
  
Neville sighed deeply. "Well," he said, "the experiment was what I would call a qualified success. I'd added a Mandrake distillate to the Wolfsbane Potion, you see, to try to block the transformation altogether. From what I've been able to ascertain--his owls were rather spotty there for a few days--while the change was diminished, it was not totally negated, and the discomfort was every bit as debilitating. So the benefits are not yet all we had hoped."  
  
As they arrived at the Longbottoms' rooms, which were immediately next to the Hufflepuff dormitories, the girls let out a rather giggly squeal. "Do I want to know?" Harry asked.  
  
"Not really," responded his wife. "Neville, we're going to pop in to the kitchens for a bit. They'll have an egg and some dishwashing soap..." And with that, and another burst of giggling, the two women strode off past the circular Hufflepuff door to the tapestry of fruit.  
  
"Oh, no," groaned Harry, as Neville led him into his flat.  
  
"What? What could they possibly want with an egg and some liquid soap?"  
  
"Oh, Neville, you really don't..." Harry sighed. "It's an ovulation thing. And there's this... discharge, see? And it's usually the consistency of soap, but when a woman is, uh, ripe, it's like egg white and..."  
  
"You know, Harry, you were right. I didn't want to know." He shuffled around the tiny flat, gathering up some small crystal goblets. "Can I interest you in some wine?" Neville asked. "I don't like distilled spirits much--not enough of the plant, you see."  
  
"Wine sounds lovely," Harry said, looking about the room, then looking more closely at the glasses. "Those are from the Burrow."  
  
"Yes, yes, well spotted," Neville laughed sadly. "We've got quite a lot of stuff from the family manse..." With a white glass bottle, he indicated a clock in the corner--Molly's old clock.  
  
"Lord," Harry said, peering at it. Charlie in bed--well, it's later in Romania, or wherever he is. Bill and the twins at home. Percy in transit. Ron in hospital--hope he hasn't passed out. Ginny in the kitchen. And Arthur and Molly in mortal peril.  
  
Seeing where Harry was looking, Neville said, "We never had the heart to take their hands out, you see." He handed Harry an ice-rimed goblet. "Young witch up in Skye does wonderful things with frostgrapes," he said, and they drank a silent toast to the elder Weasleys.  
  
"Listen, Neville," Harry began. "Did Ginny tell you about Hermione's letter?"  
  
"Of course," Neville said, stroking his beard as he continued to look at the clock. "I was there when she opened it." He gave Harry a lopsided grin. "Rather serendipitous, don't you think? Great minds, and all that."  
  
"Er, yes, Neville, but... I feel as if you've been operating under a, uh, misapprehension." When his friend's face remained blank, Harry went on, "You said my worst bit of judgment was not finding Ginny attractive. But I _did_ find her attractive. I _do_ find her attractive."  
  
Neville chewed thoughtfully on his upper lip for a second. "And she's attracted to you. I know. She and I had a rather long talk the night after your heroics with her nephew. I can only imagine how terrifying the request I'm making--the offer Hermione is making--might be to you. I'm terrified myself." He ran two fingers over the face of the clock; Ginny's hand now read 'traveling.' "But Harry, if I can't trust you and Ginny, whom can I trust? I know you'll do the right thing. If... being with you can make her happy, then it's a risk I'm willing to take. I trust the two of you before I trust myself."  
  
Though deeply touched, Harry realized he was feeling far from reassured. Indeed the panic seemed to be creeping into his throat. "Look, it might take more than just the once..."  
  
"Oh!" said Neville. "I assumed that. Pollenization is never an easy business. And Ginny is her mother's daughter. I'm fairly certain she wants at least two."  
  
Harry's head was buzzing, though he was not sure if was from the sugar in the wine and mead he'd been sipping at for hours, from the rather minimal amount of alcohol, or from sheer shock. "Neville, it's understood--these are to be your children, not mine. I don't care if they come out with messy black hair and green eyes--they're to be Longbottoms."  
  
Two heavy tears rolled their way down either side of Neville's nose. Incapable of speech he threw his arms around Harry's neck.  
  
At just that moment, the door opened and Hermione led Ginny back in by the hand. The red-headed witch was holding her free hand up over her face.  
  
"What is it?" asked Harry.  
  
Hermione exuded self-satisfaction. "She's ready. It's time."  
  
"What," Harry spluttered, " _now_?"  
  
"Now." Hermione gave her friend a quick kiss on the bright red cheek. Teary-eyed to match Neville, Ginny tottered over to her husband.  
  
Harry crossed to his wife, speaking with quiet dread, "Hermione, I don't know..."  
  
"I love you, Harry," she whispered in his ear, and Harry felt as if he had been submerged in a warm, long-awaited bath.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
"Do you trust me?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"As I do you." Then she kissed him firmly and passionately and Harry realized that he hadn't kissed Hermione like this in longer than he could remember.  
  
"Uh," said Neville, his interruption earning him a groan of disappointment from both Harry and Hermione. "Perhaps, Hermione, I could, you know, walk you up to Remus's... I mean, Harry's rooms?" Shifting uncertainly from foot to foot, he reminded Harry--as he had not done in years--of the awkward, shy boy Neville had been when they had first met.  
  
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, linked her arm in Neville's, and far too quickly, the two of them disappeared from the flat.  
  
Ginny and Harry looked at each other, startled and hesitant. "Well," said Ginny.  
  
"Well. Egg white." She nodded. "Listen, there are other ways we could do this..."  
  
"I'm not a goose to be basted," Ginny said with disgust, walking slowly towards him. "Only Muggles would take the one bit of magic they can do on their own and muck it up."  
  
They stood, staring at each other. Ginny's fingers began picking invisible specks of lint off of her velvet gown.  
  
"Do you feel even vaguely ready to, you know, do this?" Harry asked, clutching his still-frigid wine glass in both hands.  
  
Ginny peered at him, her lips thin and pale. She shook her head. "After watching Luna's performance tonight, I'm not sure the idea of giving birth appeals to me so much just at the moment."  
  
"Oh, and you're missing the really terrifying part," Harry said, smiling grimly. Then he put down his wine and took a step toward her. "It is magical, though. More magical than any charm or potion. Quite amazing."  
  
"Hmmm."  
  
"Aside from that," he continued, taking her hand in his dry and trembling hand, "what about my animal magnetism?"  
  
"Ah," she said, raising her other hand to run a finger across his forehead. "There is that."  
  
"So," Harry offered, "shall we just stay down here for the next half hour, then go up and tell our spouses it was lovely?"  
  
"No," Ginny said, smiling slightly now. "I think we should actually do this. This. While we have the opportunity. Before we frighten each other out of it."  
  
Harry leaned forward and caught her upper lip between his, and suddenly the space between them seemed to have melted away and it felt as if they were passing air and blood and fire back and forth between them.  
  
This time it was Ginny who pulled away. Her eyes gave a funny, sad twinkle.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can taste Hermione's lipstick on you."  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry." Harry moved to wipe his lips on his sleeve.  
  
"It's all right," Ginny said, stopping his arm. "Just... strange." She turned, presenting him with back of her emerald dress robes. "Now, before I change my mind, Harry, undo me, will you?"  
  
Fingers thick and uncertain, Harry detached eight hooks down the back, revealing her pale, freckled shoulders. "How'd you get in and out of this if Neville or I weren't here?" he asked giddily.  
  
"What do you think men are for, Harry?" Letting the robes drop to her feet, Ginny turned to him, revealing the body Harry had been exploring in his mind for decades.  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"You don't have to answer that, Harry. I know what men are for."  
  
Flush with fear and with desire, Harry stopped her as she reached for the button on his robes. "Ginny, I..."  
  
"Mr. Potter," she said, plucking her wand from the table and twirling it between her fingers, "am I going to have to tie you up after all?"  
  
Harry laughed, and with that laugh seemed to dispel his anxiety and unleash his own desire. "No, Ginny," he said, quickly pulling off his own robes. "I don't think that will be necessary."  
  
And then he leaned into her and kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can you say "Victorian curtain"? Sure you can...
> 
> If you'd rather not (say "Victorian Curtain"), read the next bit, chapter eleven and three-quarters, which leaves the curtain up, and which is the only moderately explicit piece in the whole story.
> 
> If your age or inclination urge you otherwise, you can skip directly to chapter twelve; you won't miss anything. Well, anything you shouldn't.
> 
> I hope Jerzy Eaglerock was just annoying enough. I rather enjoyed writing him.
> 
> And yes, I know Luna's labor came on rather suddenly. But, having been around childbirth once or twice, I know that the full ramp-up is less... dramatic.
> 
> Next chapter (or chapter and three-quarters, if you're over seventeen), and all shall be revealed!


	13. 11 3/4 - Excitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny and Harry finally come together. But neither can keep help thinking of others....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the sexy bit. Please don't read if you're not supposed to or would rather not. Enjoy, on the other hand, if you would!

Feeling Ginny's breasts soft-hard against his ribs, the cool curve of her belly against his cock, her lips burning against his, Harry had to force himself to breathe. The alternatives were either to faint cold to the floor or to ejaculate immediately, precisely where it would do the least good.  
  
He was too old to be doing either.  
  
"MBD," he groaned into her lips, and evidently she understood, as she began to drag him with both arms around his neck towards the bedroom. Her wand fell down his back and hit the floor with a _crack_ and a flurry of sparks that singed his ankle.  
  
Harry couldn't have cared less. His hands were sliding from the round pout of her buttocks to the ripple of her ribs to the thick extravagance of her hair. Fingers circling a diamond-hard nipple, tracing the line of her chin.  
  
 _Her_ hand... _  
  
_Her slim fingers grasped him firmly, like a Beater clutching a bat. Without breaking the kiss, she maneuvered him so that the backs of his legs were against the big four-poster, and then she lifted up, gently but insistently, tilting him back onto the bed.  
  
Slowly, her fine aureole of hair trailing behind her, she kissed her way down, her lips heating and cooling his throat, his collarbone, a nipple (tongue darting snakelike), the other nipple, each rib... He could go along with this... He couldn't do much of anything else.  
  
Breathing deeply, Harry stared up at the bed's canopy: a Greek satyr embracing a nymph in the midst of transforming herself into a plant. Of some sort. Their faces were both stretched in an agony of ecstatic transformation. About the way he felt.  
  
When he felt the wet heat of her mouth pushing down around the head and shaft of his cock, her tongue exploring the veins, her hair splashing over his hips, he knew he needed to act. "Ginny, STOP!"  
  
He looked down at her, her wide eyes peering up at him in frustration through the fringes of her hair, her mouth still firmly planted around him.  
  
"If the idea here is to get you, you know, _pregnant_ ," Harry moaned, "we need to make sure the first shot is actually, um, inside you..."  
  
She whimpered around his shaft, nearly setting him off. Then she released him from her mouth and leapt up on top of him, her knees pressing on either side of his waist.  
  
Harry experienced a moment when everything seemed to stop, when he could see the flush of lust spreading across her body, could see the dark hunger in her eyes, could feel her moist fire pressing down against him. He felt that he could have counted every freckle on her cheeks and shoulders, and across her high small breasts, so different from the well-earned fullness of Hermione's. "My god, you're beautiful," Harry hissed.  
  
"Shut up, Harry" Ginny hissed, "and get that thing in me."  
  
Harry reached up and pulled her into a tight embrace, then rolled her onto the bed and onto her back. "Never disappoint a lady," Harry said. "Better odds if I'm on top, though." Then he reached down, took hold of his erection, ran the head along the length of her lips three or four times for luck and lubrication, and thrust into her.  
  
They both groaned, loud and low, some wild, Paleolithic two-note chord. The tightness of her around him had made him forget about breathing again. "Ginny. I..." He pushed in a little further, almost in spite of himself, and both of them shivered. "I haven't done this for a while... I don't think I..." he said through clenched teeth.  
  
In response, she pulled him tight with her legs and arms, sealed her mouth to his mouth and her vagina around his cock.  
  
Nonsensically, an image from his Muggle primary school days flashed into Harry's brain. An electrical circuit is closed by a conductive medium, electricity flows through the circuit, a light bulb glows. Ginny was the medium. She had closed the circuit. He sparked. He flared. He luminesced.  
  
And then, like a bulb whose filament is overpowered, he went black.  
  
When the light returned--probably no more than a millisecond later, though it felt like much longer--Harry realized that his vision was blurred. His glasses had slipped, so that they were more on Ginny's nose than his. Reaching a hand up from where it had been gripping one of her buttocks, he pushed them back.  
  
Ginny's face seemed inscrutable and small, even at this close range.  
  
"Well," Harry said, uncertain what else to say.  
  
"So," Ginny sighed, looking up at him for some answer.  
  
He could feel himself softening in the still-tight wetness of her. "Shall we, uh?... Again?" he said, more to quell her evident disappointment and his own dull shame than out of any certainty that he could manage a second attempt.  
  
She nodded, very serious. "Just to make sure."  
  
He bent down to kiss her, withdrawing as he did, which made her shudder and moan. Raising himself back from her on his elbows, he ran his fingers through the copper-and-ash spray of her hair.  
  
"You like my hair, Harry?" Ginny asked, bemused and shy.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said feeling the satin of it between his index and middle fingers. "Back when you first came to school--back before the whole mess with... the Basilisk and all, I remember sitting in the Great Hall one day, looking over at you, the sun pouring down from the ceiling, thinking, Merlin, her hair is exactly the color of barbecue crisps."  
  
She peered at him, a look of frank disbelief wrinkling her eyes. "The color of... _potato_ crisps?"  
  
"The most beautiful thing I could think of. What can I tell you? Even at the time I knew it was a silly thing to think. But to a twelve-year-old boy, that was a real moment of esthetic transport, believe me. Intensely sensual."  
  
She ran the flat of her hand across his chest, and smiled. "I guess I should be glad that you didn't compare it to fresh pickled toad."  
  
He kissed her nose. "Wrong color." Then he kissed her chin, her neck, and so forth, from freckle to freckle.  
  
"Mmm... Harry? What are you?..." She gasped as he sucked a Beaujolais-bright nipple between his lips and teased it with his teeth.  
  
Pulling back on his elbows to survey his work, he blew a cool breath over her wet, red flesh. "I believe the technical term is 'adoring,'" he murmured, and leaned across to continue with the other breast.  
  
Ginny's response came from too low in her body to be called a sigh.  
  
After a minute or two, he continued his peregrination from beauty spot to beauty spot. After another minute, he rested his head on her belly, feeling her dense tangle of hair against his ear. "I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to do this again. I want to explore you while I have the opportunity."  
  
Then he turned back, kissing his way down her sharp, smooth hip, thigh and knee. A trailing hand wandered lazily across her torso, and by the time Harry had licked his way under one knee and was working his way back up the inside of her thigh, Ginny was undulating most gratifyingly.  
  
Her vulva was open, still flushed and sticky from their manic coupling. Harry gazed at her sex, marveling at its orchid-like delicacy. Compared to the only other woman he'd had the opportunity to observe at close range. In spite of the warmth, Harry shivered.  
  
"Harry," sighed Ginny, "what is it?"  
  
"Oh," he said, "just adoring some more." And he ran two fingers gently up the length of her outer lips, pinching gently as the tips reached the hood surrounding her clitoris.  
  
Hermione's clit had always been barely visible, hidden between thick lips, even before childbirth. Ginny's inner folds were fine and small, her outer vulva a subtle mound, and so, as he began to play around it, her nub stood at proud attention, stiff and enflamed as a third nipple.  
  
Wrapping his fingers in her bright pubic curls, Harry ran the blade of his tongue up the elegant ruffle of her lips, flipping the tip over her stiff clit. He could taste his own familiar, musty flavor mingled with her more exotic, floral tang.  
  
Ginny gasped again. "Merlin, Harry! Uh, not that I'm complaining, but... Ah! This is one of the things Neville actually does quite well... So you don't have to... AH!"  
  
Looking up at her face, between those inverted martini-glass breasts, he saw that she was once again dark with that desire that he had glimpsed earlier, and he smiled. "Who said anything about this being for _you_?" He bent down and fluttered his tongue over her again. "I've wanted to taste you this way for... a long, long time. Besides," he said, speaking with his mouth pressed to her, "My little friend needs a bit more time to recuperate."  
  
Ginny was working very hard to keep from whinging when she was finally able to answer him, which made Harry smile; her pelvis was rocking gently against his mouth. "Do you think?... Perhaps?... I might?... Say hello to your little _friend_?..."  
  
Harry pulled his head out from between her legs, which brought a true whinge from his partner. She purred, however, when he swung his hips up towards her face, pulled her on her side, and went back to adoring her genitalia.  
  
He felt her fingers close around his testicles and was pleasantly surprised to feel his penis jump, already mostly hard, against his stomach. Amazing. He couldn't remember the last time he and...  
  
He closed his eyes and focused on the taste and feel of Ginny to clear the thought. No, no more thoughts of Hermione now, not until later, not while this feeling was to be enjoyed and appreciated, not while she was running her tongue up the growing length of him.  
  
What was Hermione thinking, just now? What in Merlin's name could she and Neville be talking about? What made her think to suggest this... and why was Ginny squeaking?  
  
Unleashing him from her mouth, she mewled, "Harry, stop." He gave her a last nibble, and she shuddered. "Lie on your back, Harry. I think your little friend is ready to play again."  
  
He rolled back, looking up at him as she threw a leg across his hip. "Did you come?"  
  
She nodded, smiling. "A little one. Mostly, right now, I want to feel you inside me." She gasped his erection and, sitting back, slid down onto the length of him. They sounded that long, two-tone chord again, and Harry marveled at the feeling of her rippling snuggly over him.  
  
As she began to rock against him, Ginny gave a very feline purr that Harry could feel as well as hear. Her eyes closed, a wide grin splayed across her face, her hair flowing wildly back and across her shoulders, she was the happiest, sexiest sight that had met his eyes in a very long time. He felt as if he were grinning with his entire body, rocking beneath her.  
  
"What?" she asked, her voice low.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"No, come on, you bugger, what?"  
  
"No buggering this time. We're a-hunting bairns..." Ginny gave Harry a quizzical look, and he laughed, then groaned as her answering chuckle pulsed around his cock. "I was just wondering," he said. "Are you very regular?"  
  
"What?" she asked. "You mean my monthlies?" He nodded. "Yeah, as clockwork, every four weeks."  
  
He reached up and stroked her chin with his thumb. "Meet you back here in twenty-eight days, then."  
  
She smiled and kissed his thumb, then looked away, her motion slowing. "Harry, could I already be, you know, pregnant?"  
  
"No," he replied. "No, it takes hours for the little guys to swim their way up to the egg. And then it can take days before the fertilized egg gets down into the womb."  
  
"Would I... Will I feel anything?" She was still looking away.  
  
"I don't know." Harry circled her ear with his fingertips. "The first we ever knew was always when Hermione would start yelling at me because she thought the coffee tasted terrible." That didn't even raise a smile from Ginny. "What are _you_ thinking, luv?"  
  
She looked down at him, then shook her head.  
  
Stopping their rhythm, he leaned up and kissed her. "Thinking of Neville?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"It's okay. I was thinking of Hermione earlier. I think it's better that we do. Then maybe it won't feel so... illicit."  
  
She leaned against him. "I wouldn't mind it feeling a bit illicit," she murmured. "This feels so, I don't know, _funny_."  
  
It was his turn to nod, against her neck.  
  
"Take me from behind, will you, Harry?" She climbed off of him suddenly, with a liquid _smack_ , then placed her head on the pillow and arched her marble-white bottom high and inviting towards him.  
  
Harry stared at her for a moment, breathless. Then he got up on his knees, moved behind her and slid himself deep into her in a single, wet stroke. Her hands grasped at the sheets above her head and her breath caught.  
  
This was Hermione's favorite position.  
  
Harry ran his hands over Ginny's arse and up her freckled back. "Does feel funny," he whispered, and reached around to caress the front of her. "But it feels good, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yes," she hissed.  
  
And then they fell into a wordless rhythm, his body dancing against and inside of hers.  
  
And as he swelled inside her, perhaps Harry got a glimpse of the images that were passing through her mind, of boys, young men, grown men, a dozen or more--Dean and Blaise and Colin at school and Rémy at Bill and Fleur's wedding and big Kingsley during her Auror training and many more--taking her in this position because, no matter how wonderful the lover, the body she wanted to be moving against was Harry's and this gave her not only deep penetration and a sense of the nasty that she craved, but the room to imagine the Boy. And now, here she was, feeling him finally deep inside her, his fingers on her breasts and on her clit. And she was imagining the caresses of her husband.  
  
And if Harry sensed any of this, perhaps Ginny would have understood that his mind was filled with images of Hermione, her curls bouncing as he slammed against her, lowing as he fingered her. The conceptions of all three children.  
  
Whatever she saw, Ginny was shrieking into the pillow. She reached back past Harry's whirring fingers, grabbing his testicles.  
  
They would have forgiven each other for whatever they might have been thinking, because in that moment each was howling the other's name. They screamed, ecstatic, each moving into the other, a joined, mystical creature, a Centaur, a Mermaid. And like all such creatures, magical and rare.  
  
Then they fell limp, complete, to the dark green comforter, and stared up at the top of the bed, each seeing, not the tapestry, but something beyond it.  
  
"Well."  
  
"So."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really hadn't planned on writing this chapter, but after the whole fic was finished I kept thinking about what this must have been like for Harry and Ginny... and how--even in this moment of real intimacy, they could never be entirely alone.


	14. 12 - Aspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry gets the truth from Hermione at last, and Ron shares a surprise or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: The softest of soft R for implied nookie.
> 
> Warnings: Middle-aged.... afterglow. Divination. :-)

Ginny rested her head on Harry's chest; he could feel the thud of his heart against her cheek. "Ginny?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I think I got your brother sacked today." He found himself tracing the line of her neck through her thick hair.  
  
"Oh." She was silent for a moment. "That's what that was about. Probably the best thing to happen to him in years. He's been desperately unhappy for a long, long time..."  
  
"And I still don't know what was going on between him and Hermione."  
  
She let loose a long, warm sigh that spilled over his arm. He felt her begin to vibrate against him. "Harry, I... Um, I don't want to hurt your feelings, okay?"  
  
The sense of warmth and well-being faded quickly. "What, Gin? What is it?"  
  
"I think..." She began to sob. "I think I need my husband..."  
  
"Oh. Ginny." He kissed the top of her head. "Doesn't hurt my feelings at all, luv. I'll go and fetch him for you, shall I?"  
  
With a teary gasp, she nodded emphatically against him.  
  
Gently detaching himself, Harry slipped off of the bed. Clothes? Still out in the living room. He turned back to see Ginny, a vision of cool white and copper against the rich green bedspread. "Ginevra?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
Through the tears, she smiled dazzlingly. "Love you too, Harry."  
  
Grinning, he turned to leave.  
  
"Oh, and Harry?" He spun back. "Thank you." He stood, momentarily frozen, unable to say anything. Thank you, too. You're welcome. Anything. Ginny curled in upon herself. "Let's do this again, shall we?"  
  
"Twenty-eight days," he said finally with a laugh. "I'll mark it on my calendar."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Walking up through the halls, Harry passed knots of students. He felt as if they all knew--they were teenagers, after all; their senses could probably identify sex at three hundred paces. What surprised him most was that he didn't mind at all.  
  
The only things marring his deep-felt sense of peace were a niggling anxiety for Luna, and a looming terror of his imminent conversation with his wife.  
  
In the entrance hall, he ran into Sidi and his godson. Her _boyfriend_. They smiled sheepishly at him and he smiled sheepishly back.  
  
"We're going outside," said the Weasley boy.  
  
"To study," said Sidi.  
  
"Remember, you've got a one-parchment essay due to me on Thursday," Harry said, congratulating himself on refraining from pointing out that it was a better time for a romantic star-lit walk than a study session.  
  
They both blushed, ducked their heads in matching nods, and wandered out the door, holding hands openly now.  
  
Should he tell Sidi and Minnie and Albie that they might have a half-brother or sister on the way? How do you explain something like that--a sibling that isn't a sibling--to a thirteen-year-old, let alone a four-year-old?  
  
Not yet, he thought.  
  
But eventually, yes, they should know. He watched Siria and Harry walking down to the lake, and he shivered.  
  
Have they kissed yet?  
  
Soon.  
  
Please, he asked of no one in particular, let them not hurt too much. Let the joy outweigh the pain, for a little while at least.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
When Harry entered his rooms, Neville froze in the act of hopping from one foot to the other. He stood there, startled, one leg still in the air. "Uh, hullo, Harry." Bright-eyed and red-cheeked, he resembled nothing more than a youngish, rather flustered Father Christmas. The firewhisky bottle was on the table, open. A blue envelope was propped against it.  
  
"Hullo, Neville. Your wife wants you."  
  
"Ah. Yes, yes." With exaggerated care, he lowered his foot to the balding carpet, and then swallowed. He seemed incapable of moving. "Hermy and I finished the whiskey. Hope you don't mind."  
  
"Well, seeing as it was originally yours and Ginny's, no, not at all."  
  
"No, no... Harry, yes, Albie came through on the Floo and talked to Hermy, something about lions, only they were happy? Something like that. And that Luna and Ron's boy Tom was born. Or is going to be born any minute. Did you hear anything? How could he have gotten an owl? Hermione went into the bedroom to do some work, she said I was driving her crazy, which I thought was awfully funny. Though I'm not sure why. Oh!" he said, reaching into his robes, "speaking of messages, I brought that letter of Gabrielle Delacour's that I told you about..." He searched around inside all of his pockets. "Where did I?..."  
  
"Is that it on the table?" Harry asked.  
  
"Ah, yes, yes..."  
  
"Neville," Harry said.  
  
"Uh, yes?"  
  
"Ginny wants you."  
  
"Ah. Yes." Slowly, his face white, he began to walk to the door. He stopped, wobbled and turned back. "You know, Harry... We do give each other, you know, _pleasure_."  
  
"What?" Harry said, and immediately regretted it--he didn't really want an explanation.  
  
"Pleasure." Neville's face had gone from pasty to a deep red that seemed to have nothing to do with shame. "Just because I can't have, you know, _sex..._ Ginny and I can still enjoy each other...."  
  
It occurred to Harry for the first time that, just as he would never have the same relationship with Ginny as before, so too his level of, well, _intimacy_ with Neville had changed forever. This would take some getting used to. "Neville?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're a very lucky man."  
  
Neville smiled broadly. "I am, aren't I? And, Harry, so are you. So are you."  
  
Harry smiled and nodded and Neville left, not even bothering to close the door behind him.  
  
The door to the bedroom was closed, but the flat was tiny enough that Harry was sure that Hermione had heard him come in. He went and knocked.  
  
The answer was a single, sustained, high-pitched note, like a kettle that's been boiling a bit too long.  
  
He opened the door and stepped through.  
  
Hermione was seated on the bed in her nightgown--one he had bought her before Sidi was born--with parchment, quills and books scattered around her. This was normal enough.  
  
Her face, however, was buried in a pillow on her knees and she was letting out a keening wail such as Harry had never heard in twenty years of marriage. Where her grief at her father's death had been long and deep and agonizing, this was devastating. Shattering. Her back convulsed, and yet her sorrow spilled out in one long, unbroken, unwavering outpouring of pain.  
  
Harry walked over and set next to her, crushing several rolls of parchment and not caring at all. "Hermione."  
  
She collapsed against him, her head finally coming to rest on his knees. The long keen broke into wracking, jackhammer sobs.  
  
"Hermione, love. It's all right."  
  
She wept against his legs for a long time. Harry stroked her back and her hair.  
  
Eventually, her sobbing subsided to mere weeping. "I can smell her," she spluttered.  
  
"Oh. Damn. I'm so sorry, Hermy. I should have thought... I wanted to see you." Feeling like an idiot, he started to get up, to take a shower, to change his clothes, but Hermione held him tight in her arms, clinging desperately.  
  
"I asked for this," he heard her say. "I truly and literally asked for this."  
  
"It's all right, Hermione."  
  
"How can we go on, Harry, after everything that's happened?" For the first time, she looked up at him.  
  
Still stroking her hair, he said, rather coldly than he mean to, "What exactly has happened, Hermione?"  
  
She squinted up through puffy eyelids. Then, taking a deep, quivering breath, she sat up. "I'm so sorry, Harry."  
  
"Whatever it is, I don't care. I forgive you. I love you."  
  
"NO!" she spat. "Ron and I did something to you I don't know that I could ever have forgiven if it was me. I would have _killed_ you, honestly, Harry."  
  
"Hermione," Harry said, bewildered, "this isn't still about _that_ , is it? Come on, love, you and I agreed, that day, that we'd forget it ever happened. That it wouldn't ever happen again..."  
  
Suddenly, Hermione's face closed off. "Yes, well, Harry, you see..."  
  
Something cold and liquid was churning in Harry's stomach. "What is it, Hermy? What's happened?"  
  
She closed her eyes and spoke quietly. "It was seeing you and Ginny together here that night in the Floo. And I knew, _knew_ , you were having it off together..."  
  
"We weren't, you know. The funny thing is, we'd just been congratulating ourselves on resisting temptation..." He was about to tell her just how close they had come to failing when she broke in.  
  
"I couldn't get the image out of my head. I saw the two of you, sitting there..." She pulled her knees back up to her chin "I know I've been a mess this year, Harry. I know. And we haven't exactly had a lot of time. But you've been so... moody. Withdrawn. Ever since that party last fall." She sniffed, and Harry handed her a box of tissues from the nightstand.  
  
"You know," she continued, "that Percy's been after me for years."  
  
"Really?" It was an effort to keep his voice calm. No wonder she was always so touchy about the teasing.  
  
" Since the days when I was working down in the Department of Mysteries. Cards. Flowers. Pressing up against me when we passed in the hallway. Nothing I couldn't handle. And I always told him to stop. I never encouraged him." Harry nodded, dreading where this was headed. "When I became Minister, he was so angry that he barely talked to me for months. He didn't flirt or write notes on the bottoms of memoranda for the longest time. It was quite a relief. But it was also a bit... disappointing, you know? It's nice to think there's someone out there who's attracted to you, even if you aren't planning on doing anything about it.... Merlin, that sounds absolutely bloody heartless."  
  
"No," Harry murmured, "I understand."  
  
"In any case, last summer he started again. After sending me this incredibly nasty critique of some legislation that I'd proposed, he comes in to my office and all but throws himself at me. It was pathetic, but... sort of exciting. And he kept at it, any time we were alone together." She shook her head sadly.  
  
Last summer? thought Harry. Then Albie?...  
  
" I saw you and Ginny, and I just snapped. This little, nasty voice inside me said, right, what's good for the gander's good for the goose. And I invited him over to Grimmauld Place with every intention of seducing him."  
  
She looked at Harry intently, pursed her lips briefly, and went on. "It was so _stupid_ , Harry. Poor Percy... The kids were up in bed, and I'd packed Celestine off for the night. Percy had Floo'd in while I was upstairs, and we were snogging away like a couple of randy schoolkids down in the kitchen when..."  
  
"Albie walked in," Harry said, smiling wanly.  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"He always does."  
  
"Ah. Yes. Any way, yes, he did. I suppose I should have known he would. Fortunately, I heard him coming down the stairs, so Percy and I weren't, you know, _in flagrante_. But I was incredibly upset. By the time I'd walked him back up to his room and put him to bed, all I could think was, Hermione, what the hell are you doing? I knew in that moment that, whatever else, I _trusted_ you. I trusted Ginny. And here I was, mucking everything up, all over again, just as I did with Ron."  
  
"Hermione..." What she was saying... It sounded as if it might have been lifted from Harry's own thoughts over the past weeks. What?...  
  
She held up a shaking hand. "Let me finish. I went back down and tried to talk to Percy, but he was extremely upset... I suppose I can see why... And he... He came very close to, well, _forcing_ himself on me. I had my wand close to hand, though, so I put him in a Full Body Bind, and Floo'd him home."  
  
Harry goggled. "Hermione... Are... Were you okay?"  
  
"Fine. I was fine. Well, I was humiliated. And furious, with him. And with myself. And with you, and then I started to think, This is all because I still feel guilty about Ron. After all these years, I still feel as if I'm the bad one because of what I did to you. And I knew Neville couldn't get Ginny pregnant--a rather large appropriation for male fertility treatments came through from Hogwarts this winter, and who else could _that_ be for?--so I thought, There, that'll even the score and do the Longbottoms a good turn." Tears began to flow again. "But I'm too clever by half, Harry. I asked you to trust me, but could I trust myself? Coming up here with Neville nattering away, I realized this was _killing_ me, that I was so bloody jealous I couldn't stand it. It took everything I had in me not to run screaming down the stairs to pull _that slut_ off of you, and then I felt terrible because I love you and I love Ginny, and I want her and Neville to have kids, and I _ASKED_ for this, my god, Harry, what have I _DONE?_..." And she began to wail again.  
  
Harry wrapped his arms around his wife, a peel of hysterical, relieved laughter building up inside of him, and she buried her head in his chest, her curly hair bobbing as she wept.  
  
"Look, Hermione, fair queen..." It was an old nickname that he hadn't used for years. "It's done. Slate clean. All finished."  
  
"No," she blubbered against his chest. "Maybe she's not pregnant..."  
  
"Given _our_ history, I'd say the odds are good that she is."  
  
"Besides, she'll want more than one. I _know_ Ginny..." And she dissolved into wailing again.  
  
"Hermione..." Then he sighed. "It's these damned Weasleys," he said. "They're such sex magnets. Must have some Veela blood, don't you think?"  
  
Hermione gave a wet snort.  
  
"Hermione, if you don't want it to happen again, it won't. Ginny and Neville will understand."  
  
She worked her arms around his neck and nuzzled up on to his shoulder. "What about you, Harry?" Her wet nose was pressed against his throat.  
  
"Me?" he asked, and the laughter that had been bubbling up inside finally burst out, to Hermione's apparent astonishment.  
  
"Yes, Harry, _you_... What do you..." Wiping her eyes, she stared at him, eyes wide but brow creased. "Are you feeling all right, Harry."  
  
"Are you joking?" he asked. "I haven't felt this good in days. Months."  
  
Her astonishment turned to something resembling great displeasure. " _GOOD_? You feel _good_?" She drew back from him, fuming, magisterial. "Harry Potter, do you know what torture I've been going through for the past week, since that night when Albie woke, having his sex dream, and I Floo'd you and you were sitting there _having a chat with Ginny_?"  
  
" _YES_!" Harry cried, trying as best he could not to laugh. "Yes, I know. I've been putting myself through torture worthy of a squad of Dementors." He grabbed his wife's hand; she was peering at him skeptically, looking as if she might be considering the possibility that her husband had lost his mind. "Hermione, love, the path you've traveled this past week, every bit of it, Ginny and I have traveled right alongside. Well, except for the attempted rape--now I'm sorry I didn't punch Percy while I had the chance..."  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"Hermione, I'm trying to say... That night when you called, the reason Albie woke up, Ginny and I were skirting about as close as is humanly possible to making exactly the mistake you suspected us of."  
  
Hermione's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"We didn't," he said. "But it was a near miss. And it was more than a bit unpleasant. And I was feeling nineteen kinds of guilt for treating you that way, for treating _her_ that way--shush, Hermione. When I saw Percy at home that night..."  
  
"You _saw_ him?"  
  
"Yes, yes, you see the beauty of it, but it gets so much _worse_ , love... The next morning I called in on the Floo to get a message to Minnie..."  
  
"About an animagus exercise, she told me."  
  
"Yes, but I saw Albus first , you see, waving that bloody ruler Percy reads his newspaper with and this awful, _awful_ idea just sort of mushroomed inside me--this thought that, if you and Percy had been at it, you see, as Ginny and I had come so close to being _at it_ , and if you'd been together for long enough..."  
  
"Oh, Harry," Hermione gasped, "you didn't! You couldn't!"  
  
"I did." Hermione's abashed expression only made Harry want to giggle again, so he pressed on. "I almost convinced myself Albie was Percy's child. And worse..."  
  
" _Worse_?"  
  
"Yes, worse, I was well on the way to convincing myself that Minnie was his too--I know, I know, but she looks like _you_..." He shook his head and sniggered.  
  
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, but the disapproval in her voice was as familiar and as comfortable as an old blanket, and he warmed himself in it. She brought a hand up to his face. "Why didn't you _talk_ to me?..."  
  
"For the same reason you didn't talk to me, I suppose. Feeling too guilty. Too frightened of what I'd find. You sent that letter to Ginny..."  
  
"And you thought I was playing tit for tat."  
  
"If you'll pardon the expression." The hand that had been caressing him gave a playful slap. "Hermione... The thing is, by today, I just couldn't worry about it any more. I decided I was being stupid no matter _what_ I chose to believe or not believe and so... in the end I trusted you'd let me know what was going on."  
  
Her face was soft and sad. "You're a good husband."  
  
"I only want to make you happy." He pinched the spot at the base of the ribs that was her one ticklish spot.  
  
"Stop it," she yelped.  
  
"Okay," he said. And felt her settle back in to his embrace. "I love you, Hermione Granger."  
  
"Hm. I love you, Harry Potter." Then very quietly, she asked, "Did you tell her you loved her, too?"  
  
He sighed, then nodded. "You love her too, love. Loving Ginny, or Neville, or the kids, or Ron... It doesn't take away from what I feel for you. And it doesn't change the agreements we've made."  
  
"Oh, Harry," she said again, no disapproval at all, and he leaned down and kissed her, he kissed his wife gently and slowly and she kissed him, lips unhurried and fully, and he knew in that moment what he had always thought he had known, but had never truly understood: that he was hers and she was his.He felt her weight leaning heavy against him, smelled a faint hint of the brim-stone-y bouquet of firewhisky. "I'm tired, Harry."  
  
"Come on," he said, "let's tuck you in."  
  
Sweeping all of the parchment off of the bed, he maneuvered her under the covers. Her breath was coming more and more deeply. As he was putting out the candles, he heard her murmur, "Maybe... might feel better... maybe Neville and I should stay, next time..." Then before Harry could so much as smirk, she said, "Stop that, you randy bugger... dirty mind..." And within two minutes she was snoring.  
  
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, suffused by a delicious, bittersweet sense of wholeness. None of it mattered: Ron, Ginny, Percy. Sidi and Harry Weasley. Minnie's moody outbursts or Albie's preternatural flights of fancy. They loved each other, and none of it mattered.  
  
It wouldn't be until months later that he would see the humor in the fact that it had been on the night when he'd first made love to Ginny that he had finally remembered how much he loved his wife. Then it would strike him as riotous. Now, he was content simply to feel good.  
  
Once Hermione had fallen truly asleep, Harry leaned over and kissed her slack cheek. Then he quietly shuffled out towards the door, and closed it behind him.  
  
His thought had been to grab a sip or two of whiskey for himself, to slow his tumbling thoughts. But Neville and Hermione had well and properly killed the bottle.  
  
He opened the note from Gabrielle, feeling the need to do something.  
  
 _Mon cher Neville_ , it began, and then went on for some pages discussing the finer points of Gillyweed cultivation.  
  
At the back, however, came some paragraphs of an entirely different sort:  
  
 _I have been thinking much since a while about how I met you and your friends. I have been thinking much, especially, about your friend Harry Potter. Meeting him had a great influence on my life--not least my weakness for men with glasses.  
  
But of course, it is much more than that. We French--and especially we French with Veela blood flowing in our veins--are very fond of passion and of honor. But we do not like to think of these two things as connectable, as being connected. Harry Potter was the first person I have ever met who not only did everything with passion completely, but always managed also to do always the right thing. He was a young man most admirable, and, the few times we have met since, he seems just as admirable today.  
  
I look forward to hearing how the salination charms work. And if you have the opportunity, please pass my grateful thoughts on to Harry.  
  
Ton Amie,  
  
Gabrielle  
  
_Harry folded the letter away and put it back in the envelope.  
  
Passion? Honor? He felt little connected with either just now.  
  
Well, he thought, perhaps more now than a few weeks ago.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Unable to sit still in Remus's rooms--unwilling to stare at the orange stain on the carpet or watch Sirius's face scowling down at him from the picture--Harry decided to go for a walk.  
  
He found Ron, sitting on the front steps of the castle, watching the light of the still-gibbous moon slowly flood the valley, looking slack-jawed and stunned.  
  
"So," Harry said.  
  
"It's a boy. It's a bloody boy."  
  
Harry grinned and threw his arms around his friend. "Congratulations, mate. Welcome to the club."  
  
"I'm a bloody dad." He stared at Harry. "Shouldn't I have to know what I'm doing?"  
  
"No one ever does, Ron. It's a headlong leap into the abyss."  
  
Shaking his head, Ron looked up again. "Luna looks brilliant, as relaxed as ever again.... And Tommy looks..." Ron's face twisted as he searched for the proper word, and then went back to a look of blank astonishment as he gave up. "Sent the owls out. Fawkes wanted to go, so I let him take the one for you lot at Grimmauld Place... But... you're both... here."  
  
"That's okay. Minnie'll be thrilled."  
  
"I'm a bloody dad."  
  
"How does it feel?"  
  
"Terrifying. And like I rule the bloody world." Ron shivered. In his hair, Harry could just detect the miraculous scent of birth. What a fragrant pair we are, he thought.  
  
"I've got an idea," Harry said. "What say we head down to the Broomsticks and drink a toast or three to Tom Weasley."  
  
Still looking as if he'd been thumped rather hard on the head, Ron nodded and stood. They walked silently for a while, Ron's arm over Harry's shoulder. "You ever work that stuff out with Ginny?" he asked.  
  
Harry nodded. "I'll tell you about it later. But yeah, I think it's worked itself out." Then they fell back into silence  
  
"So," Harry said as they passed through the school gates, figuring he'd wait for Ron to start telling war stories of the birthing until he was ready for it, "you spending the night up in the hospital wing?"  
  
"Nah," said Ron, with a lop-sided grin, "Lois Skepples kicked me out. Said I was too much of a Nervous Nelly, that Luna and Tom needed their sleep and my hovering'd keep 'em up."  
  
"Well," Harry said, "we'll get you home before it gets too late. This is the last quiet night's sleep you'll have for a while."  
  
Harry felt Ron's arm lift from his shoulder and ducked, expecting a friendly cuff to the head. None came. Harry turned to look at his friend and was astonished by what he saw.  
  
Ron was standing, looking up into the sky, his arms straight out. With the moonlight falling on his upper surfaces, he looked as if he were aglow with stardust.  
  
"Ron..."  
  
Ron's mouth opened slowly, and a voice--not his own--boomed out. _"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well....  
  
"Today is born a grandchild of the Dark Lord's last victims... And he shall bear the Dark Lord's name in joy and in honor, and bring those whom he loves joy and honor...  
  
"And this day too was begotten the first child of he who defeated the Dark Lord, begotten by two who were possessed by the Dark Lord, possessed but never owned... And her name shall be called Alicia, known as Ali, and she shall serve long as the head of the wizarding state...  
  
"These same two shall beget a second child, who shall be called Francesca, known as Frannie, who shall become the greatest headmistress that the School founded by the Four shall ever have known...  
  
"And last shall these two beget Lilia, known as Lily, who shall be the greatest of all, for she shall heal the rift betwixt the wizarding world and the world of non-witch-kind...  
  
"And they and their families, and their half-siblings and cousins and all about them shall prosper and live in joy....  
  
"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well...."_  
  
Harry realized that he had ceased breathing.  
  
Ron softened, his arms drooped, so that the light he bore dimmed slightly, and suddenly he shook his head, as if to clear it. "You say something, mate?"  
  
Harry looked at his friend, swallowed, and then smiled. "Nah. Not a thing. Come on, Ron, let's get ourselves a drink."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The original last chapter was much less... messy. And didn't involve Ron's prophecy, if I remember correctly. Very much a "then they all lived happily and Harry got to have his cake and eat it too" ending, which wasn't really what I had in mind. aberforths_rug poked me quite a bit and let me know that after all of this, I couldn't take the easy way out.
> 
> The prophecy... Well, most of it gets explained in the epilogue. See if it makes sense to you. :-)


	15. Epilogue - Finite Incantatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry's preternaturally gifted son meets his destiny at the annual Weasley clan get-together... and it isn't at all what he expected. (Twelve years after Chapter 12 of Facing Backwards.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks once again to the_dilemma for her sharp eyes and rapier pen, and to aberforths_rug for her deep beta-ing and general unwillingness to let me be lazy....

It wasn't much fun being Albie Potter.  
  
Some days--today, for instance, the day of the annual Weasley clan reunion that the Potters attended with more of a sense of belonging than did Uncle Percy and his little brats--it was all right. His favorite people in the world were there--Uncle Ron, Aunt Looney and their kids, Tom and Celestina; Auntie Gin, Uncle Neville and the amazing Longbottom girls; and of course, his mum and dad and his sisters, who were each sporting a significant other this time round. But many of the other Weasleys didn't know him well, and weren't used to him and his abilities, and he constantly had to work at not peeking into their thoughts.  
  
It was like asking a sixteen-year-old boy--such as Albie himself--to sit in the middle of a girls' shower room and not to look. The effort to close off his vision was almost as humiliating as giving in to temptation.  
  
Just now, Artie Weasley, Uncle George and Alicia's son--he was Minnie's age--was planning to try to get Gabrielle Delacour off behind the broom shed. Gabrielle, who was still a beauty at forty-six, was utterly uninterested in any of the men present excepting her husband, the nauseating Uncle Percy, and--even more disgustingly--Albie's dad. George and Fred and Alicia and Angelina were standing in a group chatting as they so often did, and Albie had to work as hard as ever to pretend he didn't know about them what he did in fact know.  
  
It was all too much.  
  
In moments of clarity and good humor, Albie could find amusement in the fact that the feelings and thoughts that he always picked up on most strongly were those involving anger and sex. But on a day like this, surrounded by such a crowd, when he couldn't even keep out the randy thoughts of his _parents_ and his _sisters_ , let alone the libidinous musings of a group of quasi-relatives and their friends, it was more than a little overwhelming.  
  
"Knut for your thoughts," said a throaty voice behind his ear, and Albie laughed.  
  
"Not much of a bargain, Sid, since I already get yours for free." It was an old family joke, but one that never failed to reassure Albie. It's nice to know that some people could take your abnormality in stride. That they know what you are but love you anyway. "So, Harry Weasley cornered you yet today? He'd take you back in a minute, you know."  
  
Siria smiled, though Albie could feel the ache behind the grin. "Circe's been trying to get me to talk to him all afternoon." She shook her head. "He's barely grown up in the twelve years since we first got together. Still thinks dropping dungbombs in toilets is the pinnacle of fun." Sitting on the bench beside her brother, she shook her head, the short, tangled black locks bouncing around her face. Funny: both of Albie's sisters had their hair cut short these days. Minnie was, as always, trying to distinguish herself from their mother. Sidi, on the other hand, looked more like their dad than ever.  
  
"Well," Albie said, "he is the heir to a joke shop empire. You might say dungbombs were in his blood."  
  
"But they're not in mine," sighed his sister. "Kevin may not be a laugh riot, but he loves me."  
  
"But do you love _him_?"  
  
Sidi looked at him intently. "What do you see, Albie?"  
  
It was another family formula, and this one made him shiver in spite of the warmth of the day. "Sidi..."  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
He didn't have to look terribly deep. Sidi's feelings about Kevin Pengelly were right near the surface, and about as charged as her thoughts about her last staff meeting at St. Mungo's. "Siria... I mean, come on. I'm a sixteen-year-old boy. Who am I to give you relationship advice?"  
  
"You're my brother, Albie. And I trust you."  
  
He sighed. "Then you don't need me to tell you what I see. You know already."  
  
She looked across the garden for a moment, to where her boyfriend was glumly listening to Bill and Fleur's daughter talking about something. The latest Neo-Death Eater raid she'd gone on. How could anyone--anyone who found women or Aurors even remotely interesting--stand next to Alithea Weasley and be _bored_? In spite of the stunning, interesting woman in front of him, and his--Albie caught the image in the man's mind and smirked-- _well-connected_ girlfriend sitting next to her freaky brother across the garden, Pengelly was thinking about trout. Git.  
  
Sidi patted Albie's arm. "I guess I hoped you'd see something there that I'd missed."  
  
"Sorry, sis."  
  
"Not your fault." She patted his arm again and then grinned. "So, Minnie's still fuming that your OWL results were better than hers. She's still convinced you were cheating."  
  
"You don't have to tell me that--she's practically shouting it in her mind every time I come near her. It doesn't matter that the teachers set anti-Legilimency wards up before every written test, that I couldn't have cheated even if I tried." Albie didn't say that being able to peak into the proctors' minds during the _practical_ exams had made for great fun: surprising old Flitwick, Gabrielle Delacour-Weasley's predecessor, by summoning not just _any_ old chair, but the former professor's favorite: a tiny, flowered chintz recliner from the Flitwick ancestral home. The old gnome's glee had been positively exhilarating.  
  
Siria was peering at him closely, and the thought jumped from her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.  
  
"Sidi..."  
  
"Well, Albie? You said it yourself. You're sixteen. You need a girlfriend."  
  
Albie winced. "I've _tried_ , Sid. I mean, I've got more experience at my age than our dad ever did...."  
  
"Aw, Albie, come on--you really didn't need to tell me that, okay?" Sidi pulled a disgusted face. "I mean, I'm a big girl, I know Dad, you know... But _please_..."  
  
"I have no sympathy for you. Would you rather know precisely what his experiences comprised of, and with whom?" Albie laughed. "The thing is, Sid, it's just impossible. Any time I get near a girl--Harry's sister, Josie, say--I can see when she's bored with me. I can see when I scare her. I can see what shewants me to do to her before _she_ knows it. It's... I don't know. I seem to frighten them off in droves."  
  
"You?" Sidi said, in mock incredulity and ruffled his hair. "Beautiful Albie Potter of the auburn locks and the knowing stare? Ravenclaw Keeper extraordinaire? One of the most talented wizards to pass through Hogwarts in the past century? Bollocks. You must be fighting them off with a stick."  
  
"Sad to say, but no, sis," Albie said with a laugh. "They seem to be resisting my charms quite effectively."  
  
Sidi let her arm drop around her brother's shoulder. "I'm amazed you can keep it all straight."  
  
"Some days I can't," Albie answered, very quietly. "You know what I want? I want to find a relationship just like everyone else. To have a normal, regular relationship, where I can't see whether she's thinking about me when we're kissing, or about her Arithmancy essay. Whether it was images of me she fell asleep to last night, or Sextus Plinth. Where I can't tell that she's annoyed with me before she's even had the chance to decide to ignore the feeling. Or _not_ ignore the feeling. I want to find a relationship where I have to _trust_ the girl, because there's nothing else to go on. And it isn't going to bloody happen."  
  
Siria threw her arms around Albie. A knot of flame-headed Weasley cousins was blinking at him from behind the begonias. He must have gotten louder than he had meant to.  
  
"You'll find someone, Albie. I promise."  
  
He rested his head on her shoulder. "Thanks, sis. Nice of you to promise. Problem is, how the hell am I going to hold you to that?"  
  
Leaning close, she kissed him on the cheek.  
  
When she leaned back, a somber-faced Ali Longbottom was standing there, freckled and serious, as only a twelve-year-old can be. "I've gathered everyone in the Burrow. I think we're ready."  
  
Sidi and Albie both nodded and stood, following the ramrod-straight young girl as she walked towards the house. Her hair fluttered behind her like flame, and a memory--his father's--of a young Auntie Gin walking along this same pathway flashed into Albie's mind.  
  
One of the many reasons that Albie loved the three Longbottom girls was that glimpsing their thoughts was like staring into a deep, clear pool. They had very different minds: Ali, like Albie's mother, was constantly organizing and categorizing, sorting and making sense; Frannie's mind burned with a constant, searching curiosity; while little Lily viewed everyone and everything with a sense of compassion and empathy that overwhelmed Albie utterly. But each of them thought with a clarity that wasn't like the forced order in his mother's mind or Minnie's. It was their natural state, and he envied them and loved them for it.  
  
Entering Bill and Fleur's house caused another moment of flashback, this one probably borrowed from Ginny herself, or Ron: their mother, managing the kitchen like an orchestra conductor, happier than a Niffler in a Gringott's vault.  
  
As they walked through the kitchen--which now sported French country decorations, rather than Molly Weasley's more homespun décor--Albie saw everyone gathered in the living room. His parents looked blissful. Letting her former assistant Susan Bones take over as Minister last year had been one of Mum's better decisions. She looked less tired than Albie had ever seen her, even in his father's memories. Dad's face was still lined and hard-edged, but even he, the best at hiding his thoughts from Albie, couldn't contain the contentment that was oozing out of him.  
  
Part of that, Albie guessed, was that he was sitting next to the Longbottoms. As always when both families were gathered together, Albie could sense the bond that connected not only the two married couples or his father to Auntie Gin, but also all four of them together. Having grown up around this connection, Albie was only slowly learning how unusual it was.  
  
Auntie Gin. It was hard looking at her knowing that part of his reaction to her--she was an extremely attractive woman, for all that today was her fifty-second birthday--was his own, and part of it was fuelled by his father. And Uncle Neville, whose beard seemed to have grown another inch or two in the month and a half since Albie had last seen him at Hogwarts. He seemed positively beatific, as usual. _He who defeated the Dark Lord_....  
  
Ali took stock of the room as they entered, and seated Albie and Sidi next to Minnie on the couch. Fey and unselfconscious, eight-year-old Lily Longbottom climbed up on Albie's lap. _Begotten by two who were possessed by the Dark Lord, possessed but never owned..._ Other than his father and Aunt Gin, Albie was probably the only person alive who could appreciate the wording of Uncle Ron's prophecy.  
  
Of course, only Albie and his father even knew of the existence of Ron's prophecy. Having had his life ruled by a vision, the elder Potter had refused to tell anyone about his friend's divination on the night of his son's birth.  
  
He'd never even told Ron himself.  
  
And he had no idea that young Albie had heard the prophecy through his father that night, that the wording had burned itself into the four-year-old's psyche, even though he hadn't understood the words:  
  
 _"Today is born a grandchild of the Dark Lord's last victims... And he shall bear the Dark Lord's name in joy and in honor, and bring those whom he loves joy and honor...  
  
"And this day too was begotten the first child of he who defeated the Dark Lord, begotten by two who were possessed by the Dark Lord, possessed but never owned... And her name shall be called Alicia, known as Ali, and she shall serve long as the head of the wizarding state...  
  
"These same two shall beget a second child, who shall be called Francesca, known as Frannie, who shall become the greatest headmistress that the School founded by the Four shall ever have known...  
  
"And last shall these two beget Lilia, known as Lily, who shall be the greatest of all, for she shall heal the rift betwixt the wizarding world and the world of non-witch-kind...  
  
"And they and their families, and their half-siblings and cousins and all about them shall prosper and live in joy....  
  
"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well...."_  
  
Harry Potter believed he bore the sole burden of this prophecy, lovely as it was. And Albie Potter had no intention of disillusioning him. As he had come to understand what it meant, the prophecy had become a kind of security blanket for Albie, an assurance that, indeed, all would be well.  
  
Poor Dad, Albie thought. For all of the Occlumency and care that he took, Albie could still pick up on him more clearly from the other side of country than he could most other people from across the room.  
  
Franny Longbottom sat at Sidi's feet. Six children, four adults. They were all present. Ali took center stage. "Thank you for coming," she said, serious as ever. Albie bit back a smile at the image of her, already having organized most of the first-year students into community service groups. "Mother, Father. Uncle Harry, Aunt Hermione. There's something that the six of us have been meaning to tell you for some time." The four parents blinked. Albie didn't need to look into their minds to know that they had no idea where this was going. Ali looked around. "Siria," Ali continued, "perhaps it would be most appropriate for you to continue."  
  
Albie sensed a brief wave of panic from Sidi, and a matching pulse of resentment from Minerva. Sidi chose not to stand. "Well," she said, "obviously our families have always been close. Closer even than to Aunt Luna and Uncle Ron's family. And there's something that, um, we know that you haven't told us about that."  
  
Suddenly, any anxiety that Albie might have been sensing from his eldest sister was drowned out by a flash of alarm from the four adults across the room.  
  
"We understand that you've been waiting for the best time, that you've been trying not to burden us. But see, the thing is, we all know. We've always known."  
  
Uncle Neville seemed, for once, to be shaken. Aunt Ginny glanced first at her husband and then, tentatively, at Albie's father, who took her hand, even as he held tightly on to his wife's. The former Minister for Magic stared at them--Albie, his sisters, his half-sisters--magisterially before speaking. "How did you come to know?"  
  
The girls all looked to each other, uncertain--even the supremely self-assured Ali--before staring at Albie. Albie simply smiled at his mother.  
  
"Bugger," said the prim Hermione Granger, and all of her children snorted. Albie had never even heard his mother _think_ the word, let alone speak it.  
  
"Children," said Uncle Neville, face white beneath his beard, not looking the part of headmaster at all at the moment, "you must trust that we were going to tell you soon."  
  
Albie found himself nodding with the girls, unsure why they were all nodding, aside from a desire to spare this man any further embarrassment.  
  
Still holding both mothers' hands, Albie's dad--all six children's biological dad--spoke with quiet intensity. "We needed to tell you soon. Our main concern, you see, was that Albus and Alicia might somehow become even more... attached... than they already are." Albie could feel the bottomless, limpid pool of Ali's mind fill, where she stood against the arm of the couch beside him, with one emotion: abject humiliation. Without catching her eye, he took her hand and held it as gently as he could manage. "We know that was silly, that it wasn't likely to happen," Dad spluttered. "That you and Albie have always loved each other like the brother and sister that you are. But you can see that that would have been a, erm, a problem." Courageous, heroic Harry Potter was reduced to stuttering at his own feet.  
  
Albie had always hated the quiet, intense talks far more than yelling. It made it worse to have to add your sense of your father's mortification on to your own.  
  
"Girls," Aunt Ginny said, squeezing both men's hands now, so that the four adults were linked in body as they were always bonded emotionally, "I... we need to know whether you understand _why_." Her dark eyes flashed brightly.  
  
In Albie's lap, Lily shifted slightly, and he was stunned by the depth of her concern for her parents, her sense of their discomfort, which almost matched his own. "We know you and Daddy couldn't have had us without Uncle Harry's and Aunt Hermione's help," she said. Then she hopped down and ran to her father--to Uncle Neville--who was quietly crying. She slipped up onto his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "But you're our Daddy."  
  
Neville began to stroke Lily's long, auburn locks; he was openly weeping now, tears glistening on his grey-streaked beard.  
  
Lily looked up, imploring her sisters. Jade green, her eyes were the only outward sign that the three Longbottom girls had any of Harry Potter's blood in their veins.  
  
Ali gave Albie's hand a squeeze, and ran along with Franny to embrace their father.  
  
Albie felt as if he were in the middle of a blast furnace; nine of the dozen or so people on earth with whom he felt the strongest connection were all radiating emotion at a level that almost hurt, and yet he had no desire to leave. He wanted to see them happy. But it was more than he could take. As Sidi and Minnie ran over to embrace their parents, Albie found that he was curling in on himself, sunblind.  
  
A hand touched his shoulder. Aunt Ginny. "Come give me a hand in the kitchen, will you, Albie?"  
  
He found himself following her automatically, unthinkingly.  
  
When they reached the kitchen, she didn't even pretend to try to find a task for him; she sat Albie at the long oak table and placed a glass of water in front of him. "You okay?"  
  
He nodded and drank.  
  
He could feel her focus and her eyes on him, even as the storm in the next room began to break. Softly, she said, "It must be overwhelming sometimes, your gift."  
  
Albie looked up; like her youngest daughter, Ginny exuded sympathy. She was honestly trying to imagine what it would be like to be Albie Potter. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Not usually. I've learned, over the years, to block out what I shouldn't hear. It's like learning to have a conversation in a crowded room. But sometimes, like today, there's more than I can keep out..."  
  
She mirrored his smile, and he could see how sad it was in fact. "I'm so sorry, Albie."  
  
"Don't be. It really is a gift, most of the time. I mean, yeah, there are things I, uh," he pointed over his shoulder, "shouldn't know about that I do. But sometimes, the thoughts and memories are a real help."  
  
"Like when?" she asked, curious and unconvinced.  
  
"Well," he said, grinning shyly, "when I was ten, the first time I had a crush on a girl--it was a Muggle with flax-colored hair named Gillian Fowler--I felt like an absolute berk, you know? Convinced no one had ever felt like such an idiot, ever. But I flashed on your memories of standing right here, trying to talk to my dad and utterly floundering. I figured if someone as fantastic as you could feel that stupid, I must be in good company."  
  
Aunt Ginny turned a deep, uniform red. "Damn."  
  
Albie smiled and touched her hand. "But see, I got the other end of it too. I know how useless my dad felt watching you. And how foolish he felt, later, when he was the one who couldn't talk to _you_. Having all these memories, it is confusing sometimes, yeah. But it gives me a certain amount of.... perspective."  
  
"I suppose," she said. Peering at him still. "I'd want to run to a Pensieve every half-hour."  
  
He shifted uncomfortably. "Actually... Um... Mum's had me seeing a Pensieve Therapist ever since she figured out exactly what I was doing. Once a week for the past ten years or so."  
  
A flare of recognition brightened Ginny's face. "Oh, so that's where you've been going on Friday afternoons," she muttered. "Neville would never tell me."  
  
"Mum and Dad made him promise," Albie shrugged, and sipped the water she had given him. "I think I'd have gone barmy long ago otherwise."  
  
Again, she looked at him, this time with the air of a card player about to make a risky bet. "Albie, there's something I... You know Harry and I... What your parents and Neville and I have, you know, of course, that it wasn't just about having the girls. But it's important that you understand that it isn't just about sex. You understand that, don't you?"  
  
Albie stared down at her hand, which was still touching his wrist. Saw the fine lines on her knuckles, the wand calluses. He should have been feeling humiliated here, but he wasn't. Interesting. "Of course, Aunt Ginny. I've always understood that."  
  
She was blushing still, darker now.  
  
"Listen," he continued, "I've told my mum and dad this, but you... Nothing that I ever picked up on when I was little scared me or traumatized me or anything like that. I mean, I didn't understand a lot of it. But I always sort of knew it was... okay."  
  
She gave his hand a squeeze. "You are a remarkable young man, Albus Potter."  
  
"Nah," he answered, and _now_ he felt embarrassed.  
  
"I've been teaching for over twenty years, Albie, I think I am qualified to judge."  
  
He shrugged.  
  
She smiled now, and he could sense that she was willing to end the discussion but in no ways ready to concede the point. "By the way," she said, "Luna told me about your OWL results. An O in Transfiguration--good work. I can't say I'm at all surprised."  
  
"Thanks," Albie said, relieved that the conversation had headed onto safer ground. They discussed his test scores and the exam for a few minutes before she sat back and lapsed into silence again.  
  
"Albie?" she mused after a full two minutes, during which Albie heard his mother scolding Minnie in such a way that he knew that both women were still weeping in each other's arms.  
  
"Um, yeah?"  
  
"Do you have your own Pensieve, or do you just use the Healer's?"  
  
"Just hers. Having my own would be... unbelievable. But even Mum and Dad haven't been able to find one. They're incredibly rare."  
  
She took on a smile that Albie recognized from all three of her daughters: a smile of deep, simple pleasure. "What if I were to tell you that your namesake's Pensieve has been gathering dust in my supply cupboard since Professor Snape passed away?"  
  
"Bloody... I mean, _wicked,"_ he hissed. "Could I... would you let me borrow it sometimes?"  
  
"Albus. Albus, sweetheart. It's yours. There's no one in the world who deserves it half as much."  
  
Albie threw his arms around Ginny without thinking, eliciting a squeak of surprise. "Thank you, Ginny! Oh, thanks, Merlin, that would be _wonderful!_ "  
  
Albie's gratitude had just dissipated to the point that he had begun to notice the tangled web of his own--or partially his own--feelings for this woman whom he was embracing when a small cough returned him to himself.  
  
"Excuse me, Mother, might I have a word with Albus for a minute?" Ali Longbottom stood, poised as ever, in the doorway.  
  
"Of course, Alicia, darling," Ginny told her eldest as she disentangled herself from Albie and stood. "Can you wait until next month, Albie, or would you like me to send it to you at Grimmauld Place?"  
  
Still flustered with excitement, Albie spluttered, "When I get to school would be fine..."  
  
"Well, then," Ginny said. She turned, whispered something into her daughter's hair that made Ali go even more stone-faced than before, winked at Albie and left.  
  
"What can I do for you, Ali? What's up?"  
  
With studied grace, the eldest of Neville and Ginny's children seated herself next to Albie. She had been preparing this for some time. "I just want you to know," she said, "that I would never put you in the kind of position that your father was mentioning." She was staring at a point a foot in front of Albie.  
  
"Damn," he said, and she blinked. "Never fails. The brilliant, beautiful ones won't have anything to do with me."  
  
Her fine chin dropped unceremoniously to her chest and she stared at him before bellowing, "ALBIE! I... You... You know I _never...._ I think _you_..."  
  
He couldn't help it: he began to laugh, and then Ali closed her mouth primly, her face turning the familial crimson.  
  
"Well," she said, her façade of calm finally almost re-imposed, "it's very kind of you to say such complimentary things about me."  
  
Leaning over, Albie kissed his half-sister on the forehead. "Have I told you before that you have a future in politics?"  
  
Now the Ali he truly knew came through, a knowing grin playing across her mouth. "Several dozen times."  
  
Uncle Bill came bustling in, ponytail still dashing despite the receding hairline, to inform them that it was time for the lot of them to rejoin the fete.  
  
Albie was vaguely aware that he just wanted to empty the house so he could get a good snog in with Auntie Fleur.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
"Should have known better than try to hide something around you," Albie's dad muttered as they walked outside.  
  
"Hey," Albie said, "I was four bloody years old. I told Minnie, who was properly mortified; she swore me to silence. Then, of course, _she_ told Sidi, which just seemed so unfair. And we all told Ali, when she was, I think, around seven. It just seemed important for them to know."  
  
"I suppose." The elder Potter sighed deeply, looking out over the sea of Weasleys in the garden. "I saw you and Ginny talking... Son, you've had to know more about your dad than any son should have to know. I'm so sorry."  
  
Albie grabbed his father by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Right, you're probably never going to hear this from me again, but it needs to be said, okay? I'm proud to have you as a dad. True, I know a lot more about you than I ought, by rights, but the fact is, it isn't your fault that I know, and you've always behaved the way you taught me to behave. Most kids my age doubt that--I know, I've seen it. But I know for a fact you've lived your life with integrity. Bloody hell, yes, I'm proud."  
  
Courageous, heroic Harry Potter turned a deep, splotchy red. He threw his arms around Albie. "Um. Thanks, son. I think."  
  
"You're welcome. Just, you know, don't expect me to say it again any time soon."  
  
Albie's father laughed. "Okay." He stepped back, and together they surveyed the party. The Longbottom girls were now playing some very complicated form of tag with Tom and Celestina Weasley; as always where Tom was, there was laughter. Even Percy and Gabrielle's obnoxious boys seemed to be having fun. Artie Weasley and Kevin Pengelly were standing side-by-side, silent as posts--each hexed by a different annoyed part-Veela, Albie realized. Sidi made her way slowly over to Kevin and accepted a chaste peck on her cheek; Albie could sense her disappointment from the other side of the garden.  
  
"What do you think of Alison?" Albie's dad asked.  
  
"What, Minnie's girlfriend?" the younger Potter asked. Together they gazed across to where the middle Potter child was talking with great animation to a soft-faced woman with a blonde buzzcut. "She's really nice."  
  
"Do you... What do you see between them, son? Are they?..."  
  
Albie felt himself harden, all of his ease with his father vanishing in an instant. "Come on, Dad. I don't pry like that, and you know it. Especially with Minnie. She really hates it. If she asked, that would be one thing. But I can't tell you."  
  
"Right. Sorry." Albie's dad rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "And here you were, so complimentary about my integrity. I just worry that she's getting into these relationships for all the wrong reasons. Boys. Girls. It doesn't matter. She sabotages them all."  
  
Albie sighed. His father had hit it on the head. The glimpses of Minnie's emotional state he'd had were very confused, but she definitely didn't seem to be looking for anything in a relationship other than distance from her family. "She's still only twenty, Dad. She'll work it out. And Alison does seem nice enough."  
  
"By the time I was twenty, your mother and I had been together for three years. We were engaged."  
  
"By the time you were twenty, you'd both helped save the world several times over. You'd worked some stuff out that Sidi and Minnie haven't had to yet. Give them time."  
  
"Hmmph." Albie noted a pained smile on his father's face. "Perhaps. Not you, though. You've had to grow up faster than anyone ever should."  
  
Albie shrugged.  
  
"What about you, son? How's _your_ love life."  
  
"Oh, Merlin, Dad... All that mushy stuff I said about how wonderful you are? I take it all back. You're a pervy old bastard." Albie's insides were churning. It was hard enough to have this conversation with his oldest, dearest sister. Much harder to have it with his dad.  
  
"I've been called worse," Dad said. "Look, son, you feel deeply. I know you do. Not everyone is ready for that. But you'll find the right girl, I know it." He slapped his son on the shoulder in the best tradition of male bonding. "I'm going to head back inside and help clean up."  
  
Albie leaned and whispered into his father's ear. "Watch out for Bill and Fleur--I think they wanted some privacy. And stay away from Auntie Gin!"  
  
Harry Potter turned bright red again, and laughed. "Pervy young bastard!" he called, shuffling inside.  
  
Albie laughed back, and meandered over to where the drinks were being kept in tubs of magically chilled water. He had just grabbed a bottle of shandy when a beefy hand enveloped his shoulder and spun him around, causing icy water to spray everywhere. "How's my favorite Keeper!" barked a gruff, warm voice.  
  
Struggling in a huge, stifling embrace, Albie laughed. "Nice to see you too, Uncle Ron."  
  
"So," the burly redhead said, "a little Phoenix told me that you might have come by a Cleansweep XV-K for you birthday. Any truth to the rumour?"  
  
Albie grinned. "Yeah. Dad convinced Mum that a good Keeper's broom might be in order."  
  
"As if you need it, Albie." Another squeeze.  
  
"Yeah." Truth be told, Albie felt odd about his talent for Quidditch. He loved the game, loved playing, and took pride in the fact that he was, from a statistical viewpoint, the best Keeper at Hogwarts in over a century--the only better one being Glynna Bourgeois, the phenomenal Slytherin girl who had been the only first-year allowed to play for a house side before Albie's dad since the early nineteenth century. She had gone on to be a star player for the Harpies for over a decade. But Albie knew that he owed a large part of his success to his native skill at Legilimency: he could see where the opposing Chasers intended to shoot, and so it was very hard for the other team to get him out of position. Though the other teams never complained--not much, at least--Albie had a hard time not feeling as if he were cheating. Still, anything for Ravenclaw.  
  
Ron laid his hefty arm across Albie's shoulder, sipping from a chilled bottle of mead. "I'd love to see Ravenclaw go unscored against this year, Albie. That would be quite something. Too bad Joanna Higgins left this year--with a good Seeker, your side would be absolutely unbeatable..."  
  
And with that, Albie and his favorite quasi-uncle launched into a passionate, esoteric colloquium on Quidditch and the finer points of playing Keeper. Sitting in the same bench that Albie had shared with Sidi earlier, they had reached a pleasant pausing point--Ron had just relived one of his more spectacular saves against Japan, some twenty years or so before--when the older man fixed Albie with what was, for him, a cagey stare.  
  
Albie sighed. He didn't need to be able to see into Ron's mind to know what was coming. "What?" he groaned.  
  
"So, son, what happened between you and our Josie last spring?" Ron asked. "I'm asking as your godfather, you understand, not as her uncle."  
  
Bloody hell, Albie thought. Here we go again. Why is everyone obsessed with my love life? "It was nothing, honest, Uncle Ron. She and I just... broke it off. No hard feelings. We just wanted different things, you know." Albie could see Josie standing with her brother, Harry, who looked uncharacteristically glum. Her mop of rust-colored hair bobbed as she talked to some blonde girl Albie didn't recognize.  
  
"You're sure?" Ron asked. Subtlety and knowing when to quit had never been his strong points. Albie nodded curtly. "Too bad. For a bit there, with you and Josie, and Sidi and young Harry..."  
  
Now Albie grinned, even if was with a bit of an ache. "Looking forward to finally being able to have us Potters call you Uncle Ron for real?"  
  
Ron's long face took on its own sad smile. "Can you blame me?" He searched around, to where Aunt Luna was talking with Albie's parents. "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone, Albie?"  
  
"Uh, sure." Albie was not sure at all.  
  
"When I was your age, almost exactly, I decided I had it all figured out. I was gonna marry your mum, and your dad would marry your Aunt Ginny. Didn't really know Luna then, you see? And I fancied your mother, Albie, that's the truth." When Albie coughed a mouthful of his near-beer out onto the grass, Ron laughed. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it sounds ridiculous to you, but it's true. She was quite something. And Harry and Ginny... well, they always had some... something between them, you know? Bloody hell... Used to have these weird daydreams about the two of them having the most amazing kids... You okay, Albie?" Ron asked, suddenly concerned.  
  
"Uh, no, yeah, I'm fine. Just, um, trying hard not to think about my dad in bed with your sister, if you don't mind." No need to tell him that the thought that had flashed into Albie's mind came not from his own imagination but from a borrowed memory.  
  
Ron grunted a laugh. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, grinning. One arm still over Albie's shoulder, the other stretched out on the back of the bench, Ron rested his head back and closed his eyes. For a minute they sat there in silence. Albie watched Josephine, working hard not to notice her thoughts. Almost succeeding. No hard feelings, indeed. Not many warm ones either. Uncle Neville came over to talk to her and the blonde.  
  
Suddenly, Ron gave a deep rumble. Thinking his uncle had fallen asleep, Albie was about to prod him when Ron began to speak in a voice that Albie immediately recognized, although it barely seemed Ron's own: " _Hear, oh, hear! Attend and learn! Love shall be joined to hate. Dark shall be joined to light. Vision shall be joined with obscurity. North shall be joined with south, and east with west. The White Son of the House of Earthworkers shall be joined with the Brown Daughter of the House of Ill Faith. Hear, oh hear! Hear! Hear... hear..._."  
  
As Ron's head slipped forward again, Albie realized that he had forgotten to breathe. He gasped. Ron began to snore.  
  
To Albie's knowledge, Ron Weasley had given five previous prophecies, the earliest being before a Quidditch World Cup match during his student days: in his sleep he had predicted that Ireland would win, but the Bulgarian Seeker would catch the Snitch--a peculiar outcome, though not unreasonable. Ron's twin brothers had overheard the prophecy, and had laid all of their savings on the outcome. They'd won, of course, but had been paid back with Leprauchan gold, poor sods. It was an object lesson that was often repeated around the greater Weasley clan--without the prophecy. Uncle Fred and Uncle George had never told anyone that part of the story. Not that that had stopped Albie from learning the truth.  
  
Then, of course, there was the prophecy Ron had given Albie's dad on the night of Tom Weasley's birth.  
  
In Aunt Luna's presence, Ron had also predicted that his second child would be a girl, then, on another occasion, that the pudding at the Welcoming Feast two years later would be Spotted Dick, and finally he had named the date and cause of Luna's death. Albie had desperately tried not to learn the details of this last prophecy, and was thankful--not for the first time--that Luna's mind was about as easy to read as the patterns of snowflakes in a blizzard. Like the snowflakes, her thoughts were crystalline; like the blizzard, they swirled with all of the appearance of utter chaos.  
  
Ron had no idea that he was a Seer. None of his prophecies had ever been registered with the Department of Mysteries. Yet Albie had utter faith in their accuracy.  
  
 _The White Son of the House of Earthworkers..._ Well, _Albus_ meant white one. And one could call potters earthworkers... So the vision must have referred to Albie himself. Bloody hell. It was a prophecy about... about his... girlfriend? His... what? Bloody hell, indeed. Who the hell was "the Brown Daughter of the House of Ill Faith"? And when Ron said "joined" did he mean... _joined_? Did Albie want to know?  
  
A shadow passed overhead: a dragon. Minnie had changed into her Animagus form and seemed to be giving rides. Uncle Charlie and Tonks, with their little ones, giggling. Albie could sense his sister's joy at having the wind beneath her wings. She was always much happier as a dragon.  
  
A voice spoke from behind him. "Professor... oh, is he asleep?"  
  
Albie turned around and stared up into the face of Sidi's friend Circe Taylor. _The Brown Daughter_? he thought. No. No ill faith about Circe Taylor at all. "Yeah, warm day. He just nodded off. How you doing, Circe? We going to be seeing you fly for England next year?"  
  
Circe smiled her wide, brilliant smile. "No, no, don't even try. The Ministry has been trying to get me to get me to fly for England since the last Cup. But I fly for the All-Caribbean side, you know that." She pushed his shoulder good-naturedly.  
  
"Can't blame me for trying, can you? It'd be nice to see England win for a change. I mean, it _is_ an English game..." Uncle Ron snorted and stirred.  
  
Stifling a giggle, Circe pulled Albie up. "Come on, let's not wake him. I have something I want to talk with you about."  
  
Mutely, Albie nodded and followed her a few steps away. Wouldn't be bad if she were The One, he thought. Older woman. Cute, tall, athletic. Sweet to the core. Famous in her own right. Her dozens of cornrow braids were much imitated by the Hogwarts girls--some of the boys too--since she had become one of the premier Seekers in the world over the last few years. "So, what's up, Circe?"  
  
She looked at him appraisingly. "I've been hearing a lot about you, Albie Potter. Lowest scored-against ratio at Hogwarts since Bourgeois? Better than her, even, if you look at goals-against per minute?"  
  
Albie kicked at a rock.  
  
"I was talking with Sid just now. She's says you're starting sixth year next month. Have you been looking at a career yet?"  
  
He shrugged. "Thought maybe I'd like to be an Unspeakable."  
  
Circe grinned her sunny smile. "Good choice for a Ravenclaw, I suppose. And the son of Hermione Granger, at that. But what about the son of Harry Potter?"  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"He could have been a top Seeker, did you know that? I saw him fly a few times. Trained with him, even. And from what I've heard, you're an even better Keeper."  
  
Albie blushed. "Circe, you know... You know what I am. I'm sure the league wouldn't allow a natural Legilimens..."  
  
"Albie," Circe said, in a tone of authority that surprised him, "you've got a gift. Why not use it? How do you think top Quidditch players do what they do? The best ones all have a sixth sense--where the Snitch is going to be, when to duck a Bludger, how to find an open teammate to pass to. And are you a Seer as well as a mind-reader?"  
  
"What? No. Of course not," he said.  
  
"Well, professional Chasers are adjusting their tactics constantly based on what the Keeper is doing. So, unless you can see into the future, all your talent is going to give you is a split-second advantage. And remember--there are three of them to keep track of. Can you keep track of three people at once?"  
  
Albie bristled. "If I'm on my game."  
  
His sister's friend grinned at him again, that huge white grin. "I bet. Look, I know it's a long way off, but I want you to promise me something, Albie." She fished a card out of her pocket. "This is Morgan Finlay's card."  
  
"Captain of the Cannons?"  
  
She nodded. "Promise me, before you make any decisions about what you want to do after you leave school, you'll let Morgan give you a try-out?"  
  
The Cannons? Albie began to say no--even with Circe, they were in the bottom half of the league, where they'd been for the past hundred and something years. But then he thought about what Ron had said: with him at Keeper and Circe playing Seeker, and Morgan as Beater--he wasn't half bad--if the rest of the team were anything above terrible, they'd be... strong. _Really_ strong. He looked into Circe's eyes, which were glittering. Then, with a grin, he nodded. "Yeah, sure, I'd love to."  
  
Circe bounced gleefully and caught him up in a hug. "Great! I've already told to Morgan about you--he was salivating." When Albie's eyebrows arched, she laughed. "No, not _that_ way! Though if you swing in that direction, I'm sure he'd do _anything_ for a good Keeper!"  
  
"No! No! Not, uh, necessary. I like girls. I like girls a lot. But thanks for offering him to me."  
  
Circe gave a giggle and a squeal, then turned to walk away, and stopped. Next to the drink tubs, Harry Weasley was talking to Sidi, his face deadly serious. She was flushed; Albie could sense her excitement at whatever he was saying. Marriage. He was talking to her about _marriage_! "Albie," Circe whispered, "didn't those two break up last year?"  
  
Albie nodded. Over Harry's shoulder, Sidi shot her brother an exaggerated nervous smile, clearly asking, _What do you think_?  
  
Albie peered around, looking for Kevin. Gone. He'd left, the git.  
  
Harry grabbed onto Sidi's hand, and a flood of emotion came from the two of them: desire, fear, and much, much love.  
  
"What's he doing then?" Circe asked.  
  
"He's, uh... he's asking her to marry him, I think. Or at least, he's letting her know he'd like to... talk about it."  
  
Sidi shot Albie another panicked look: _WELL_?  
  
He smiled back, shrugged and held his hands out to her. What do _you_ think?  
  
Her eyes were large and perfectly round. Albie laughed. He knew she loved Harry, but that he had disappointed her more than once. It was her decision to make. Pulling Harry into a hug, Sidi stuck her tongue out at her brother, and he had to bite his cheeks not to laugh. "Circe," he said, "I think your friends could use a chaperone for a few minutes, and I'm a little young for the job."  
  
She graced him with another smile, and walked over to where Sidi and Harry were having what Albie was sure was the most awkward conversation of their long friendship.  
  
Could that have been what the prophecy?...  
  
No, Ron had said, "The White Son..." And that was almost certainly Albie himself.  
  
Still, it would be nice for Sidi and Harry to find their way together. Very nice indeed.  
  
Searching the sky, Albie found his other sister's sinuous shape dodging among the clouds. Perhaps she would be willing to give him a ride later.  
  
"Hullo, Albie," said a familiar voice.. Friendly without warmth.  
  
"Hullo, Josie." He could smell her vanilla scent; could tell that she wasn't interested in him at all. Was both relieved and saddened. It was a very odd feeling.  
  
"Josephine tells me that you play Keeper for Ravenclaw," a new voice said, surprising Albie. He must have been brooding more deeply than he realized not to have noticed a stranger approach. He looked down to find a slender blonde at his elbow. Funny--her voice was gently accented, exotic. She sounded anything but European, but looked _everything_ European: fair, fine-featured, her hair and face all straight lines. Her expression would have bordered on seeming cold, if her eyes hadn't radiated an undeniable, warm good humour.  
  
Albie realized that he was standing with his mouth open. "Uh, yeah, yeah. You fly?" Brilliant. Great line. Follow that up with "Want to ride my broom, baby?" and you'll be all set.  
  
"Yes," the girl said. "I fly. Seeker."  
  
Albie could feel Josie's stifled laugh; he was clearly coming across as precisely the git he felt himself to be. Terrific. Her voice dripping with amusement, she came to Albie's rescue. "Albie, this is Amarrona. She and her mother moved back to Britain at the beginning of the summer. Professor Longbottom's just sorted her into your house; I thought I'd introduce her to one of her new teammates."  
  
He was in danger of losing himself in this girl's mahogany eyes. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Amarrona. We could use a Seeker."  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you..."  
  
"Albus. Everyone calls me Albie." Her elegant fingers slipped into his and they shook hands.  
  
Albie was about to say something to Josie when his former girlfriend's thought focused in such a way that he knew she meant him to hear it. _She's just fourteen, Potter. Watch your step_. His face must have dropped, because Josie laughed. "I'm going to go grab something to drink. Would you like something, Amarrona? Albie?"  
  
They both shook their heads, and Josie abandoned them, chuckling. Damn, thought Albie. She's setting me up. But... for what?  
  
He looked back to the new girl. She was studying him intently; he felt the urge to reach out and test her thoughts, but exercised what little discipline he could muster. What had he said to Sidi? He wanted to have a normal relationship. This was an opportunity at least to try. "So," he said, trying to affect something like a conversational tone, "how do you and Josie know each other?"  
  
"My mother was a close friend of her parents at school. We've been pen-pals since I could write."  
  
"And you're going to start at Hogwarts as a fourth-year?"  
  
One of her eyebrows arched. "How did you know that? Most people think I look at least sixteen."  
  
Albie felt his stomach roil. "Lucky guess." Time for a quick change of subject. "It's a great school."  
  
"So I've heard. My parents have been on about it forever."  
  
"Did they both go here?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes, they're both British."  
  
"Well, I'm glad I didn't compliment you on your excellent English, then."  
  
That earned Albie a smile.  
  
For the second time that afternoon, Albie found himself nodding without the slightest idea why. "And you're going to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?"  
  
"If you need a Seeker, I hope I'll be doing more than trying out," she said, a haughty sneer the first flaw to appear on her face.  
  
Albie grinned. "You good, then?"  
  
The sneer softened, and she shrugged. "The one thing my parents have ever been able to agree on was that the South American schools couldn't touch Hogwarts for Quidditch. But yes, I'm good."  
  
Albie considered her. "So, Josie said you were back with your mum..."  
  
Suddenly, the proud, erect bearing crumpled slightly. "My parents," she said, very quietly, "they... split."  
  
"I'm sorry." It seemed the thing to say. He _was_ sorry; in fact, however, Albie was noting that she hadn't used the Muggle word _divorce_. Her parents must be purebloods.  
  
"Don't be. My father is an insufferable _tonto_. I won't miss him, and neither will _Mamá_."  
  
"Ah. Well," Albie said, as suavely as he could manage, "we'll be very happy to have you."  
  
The smile warmed. "But will _you_ be happy to have me, Albie?"  
  
She was... _flirting_ with him?  
  
"Erm, yes, yes, very happy indeed."  
  
It wasn't so much that she might be interested in him; that was a surprise, but a pleasant one. But that he had had no warning at all, no pulse of heat--that was a shock.  
  
Faced with a mystery-- a very pretty mystery--Albie's resolve collapsed. He reached out, attempting to see if she was truly interested, or if she was just playing with him.  
  
He reached out. And found nothing.  
  
Not a lack of interest, no. Simply nothing. With even the most skilled, private Occlumens--his father; that old prune, the late headmaster--Albie was aware of emotion and thought being hidden. He might not be able to tell what it was, but he could count on sensing that something was going on.  
  
Amarrona gave him no sign of anything at all happening inside of her that wasn't transmitted by her face, by her voice, by her body language. She might as well have been a statue for all that he could read her.  
  
She was the most gifted Occlumens he'd ever met, and she probably didn't even know it.  
  
His stomach dropped, and he found himself reaching out to take her hand. "Yes. I will be _very_ happy to have you at Hogwarts."  
  
He was gratified to see her pale skin blossom with color; she stared up at him, her eyes wide. It was going to be nice having to read someone's face for clues. Especially such a lovely face.  
  
Josie came swaying up, a bottle of pumpkin juice in her hand. "Sorry to have to break up this little tête-à-tête, but Amarrona, we need to head back down to London." She smiled at Albie. _Thought you'd like her, you tosser_.  
  
This time, he grinned back at her. "Thanks, Josie. Good to see you."  
  
"You too," she said mischievously. _I like her a lot more than I like you. Hurt her and I promise you'll have eighteen Weasley cousins to make your life a living hell.  
  
_ Albie blinked, nodded, and turned back to Amarrona, only to realize he was still holding her hand.  
  
She smiled at him. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr?..."  
  
"Potter."  
  
Now it was her turn to goggle. "Potter! Are you... the son of Harry Potter? And Hermione Granger?"  
  
"Yeah. Yes. That's me."  
  
"Well, Albie Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard much about your parents." She took her other hand in his. " _Me llamo_ _Amarrona Bell..."_ Her eyes glistened, and she smiled as she added, " _y Malfoy_."  
  
Albie let loose a peel of laughter, which she rather more delicately joined. How amazing to be _surprised_! He leaned forward and kissed both white hands. "A pleasure to meet _you_ , Señorita Bell y Malfoy."  
  
Josie stared at him in astonishment. This time the thought came out aloud. "Well, you never did that to _me_!"  
  
Albie reluctantly let go of Amarrona's hands and took one of Josie's darker, squarer ones in his, bent at the waist and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Miss Weasley." Then he peered up at her. "Would you have liked it if I had?"  
  
She smirked at him; it was a smirk he had missed, from when they had merely been friends. "Prat," she said, and whacked him on the head. "Come on, Ami. We don't want the Portkey to leave without us."  
  
He watched the girls walk away, and his breath caught when Amarrona looked back at him over her shoulder, a small, wicked smile playing on her lips.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
Ill faith.  
  
Albie felt himself grinning madly, maniacally, happier than he could ever remember.  
  
He had met his destiny, and it looked... totally blank. But quite pretty. And very promising.  
  
Suddenly, being Albie Potter didn't look like such a bad thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, finally... the end.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the trip.


End file.
